Stay With Me..."
by Lucrecia Marionette
Summary: Approximately three and a half years have passed since Meteor was destroyed. Tifa is left with the agony of an unrequited love and seeks help from the only one who can understand - Vincent. They soon embark on a journey which not only destroys the past bu
1. Stay With Me ~ Prologue

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Stay With Me 

By Lucrecia Marionette

~Prologue~

He wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the wall for. Ten, twenty minutes? Perhaps even thirty he reasoned numbly. 

It wasn't an interesting piece of wall. No picture adorned its clinical white surface. There wasn't so much as a scuff mark or a smudge where perhaps some unwitting scientist had brushed past in a hurry. That simply wasn't possible here. In this room nothing moved quickly. Everything was perfect. Everything was designed and scrutinised so that it was physically impossible for it to travel beyond a certain speed. That was unless it had been permitted to do so, or some law had been invented beforehand excusing its haste. 

Here, in his domain, a drip from a tap was measured to the nearest millionth of a second. The sound of each coldly ringing footstep was acknowledged to the tiniest possible decibel. It was a calculating, impassionate environment where the only human sounds were soft murmurs… or the occasional screams of tortured agony.

But, it was _his _domain. Here he was master. Here no comments could be made concerning his 'insane' ideas which were in truth decades ahead of their time. _He_ knew that. He knew that all it would take was funding and a little time before his genius was realised. 

Perhaps not. Not a little time; a _lot_ of time. Twenty-eight years to be precise, but no one was willing to wait that long aside from himself. 

In his labs where time was not an issue, it didn't matter whether he was forced to wait a year or a thousand. Twenty-eight years; a score and eight measly years was nothing compared to the benefits which could be reaped at the end. The potential for his ideas was far beyond 'earth-shattering'. They could shape the course of the very universe itself. But would they listen to him? Would they even _lower_ themselves to hear what he had to say? 

Of course not.

To them he was the obscure scientist with questionable sanity and more than questionable theories. It was the ultimate humiliation to have his ideas thrown dismissively from the presence of the Shinra Heads, but still he persevered. That incident had been just over a year ago, but since then their thirst had been reinstated. Their greed and desire for the gifts that he had to give were more than enough for them to turn around and reconsider their hasty decisions.

The very gluttony and feverish desire which drove every human soul on the surface of this planet. The chance to control, be better than and generally rule over your fellow organisms was too appealing for some to push away. And himself? No, he didn't want that. He was beyond such petty and primal emotions. 

Ambition. 

The want (no, _need_) to be recognised and acknowledged was _his_ master. It was a powerful one too. People had suffered for it; _he_ had paid its extortionate prices. So much more expensive than Mako energy, a villa in Costa del Sol or any of the equipment which hummed idly around him.

Without much visible interest, he lifted his gaze from the wall and turned his eyes to the room which surrounded him. Computer screens set upon and into vast bodies of buzzing equipment bordered the room. Their metallic grey surfaces seemed so much duller despite their steeliness in amongst the cold, bright lighting set into the ceiling and the pale blue floor tiles. Every surface shone exaggeratedly, but it was not with beauty. Perhaps not to the normal eye at least, but to his own it was a sight which rivalled and surpassed any pathetic attempt nature had to offer. There was something enchanting about the soft and incessant lullaby of the machinery. The tight angular surfaces and the harsh gleam of light from the over-polished laboratory floor and the computer screens were comforting in their perfection. There were no black marks where someone had scraped a foot across the ice-like floor. Not so much as a damp patch where plagueish mould had seeped in through a poorly insulated corner of the room to infest the clinical atmosphere. Not even Mother Nature could dare to spoil this, the most perfect of man's achievements. 

And yet still in all it's cluttered confusion and disordered chaos, the Universe had given him the most wonderful thing he thought possible. It had given him a chance. It had handed him the opportunity to prove himself and his work on a silver-platter. He _would_ be heard. He _would_ be praised and worshipped for his aptitude and intellect. Finally the world would know his name, and perhaps, he thought with an over-inflated sense of egotism, _fear_ it.

A smirk tweaked at the corner of his thin lips and he allowed it to turn the pale features upwards in a moment of self-acclamation. By the gods, he deserved that didn't he?

But now all he had to do was wait. What more was there to do? 

After barely a second, his rare moment of happiness quickly soured and crumpled into a frown. Despite his earlier revelations of the insignificance of time, it certainly was irritating to be kept on tender-hooks. His plans, his schemes and designs had been timed to the nearest fraction of a second. Nature though, in its interfering way had given him his chance at succeeding, but was waving it before his face as a cruel child would wave greens before a starving chocobo. There was no set time for his 'gift'. No one could turn around and tell him the precise second in the future when he could finally stand tall with the object of his desire and flaunt it shamelessly. He hated that more than anything else because it made him feel physically sick to depend upon something so out of his control. 

In a moment of anger, he clenched his fist and thumped the table he had been leaning upon. It wasn't fair to be kept like this damnit! He wanted to control nature, not be controlled by it. 

But, he mused as he rubbed his now sore hand; he had been life's marionette since the second he had been conceived so what were a few more hours? Yes… he had been its puppet for far too long. Any longer, and in frustration he would have tangled himself up in the cruel strings and drowned in self-loathing and pity. 

He'd seen that once before. In one of his moments of boredom he had watched a documentary on television where dolphins had become ensnared in fishing nets. They were so desperate to escape that they had literally writhed themselves to death. He remembered the way that the thin wire refused to break no matter how hard they thrashed and it had sliced them to pieces. As they fought to evade the pain, they only served to magnify it. 

Eventually, he recalled with a grim, humourless smile, they had used up their remaining energy and drowned in the fluid which had once been their home. If only they had waited. If only they had ceased their pitiful struggling then they would have died without the slicing agony of the wire and the panicked will to escape as their last thoughts. 

Could dolphins even think? 

He sighed. What did it matter? Perhaps, later on in life he could find out for himself. True it was a step down from his usual line of Human Evolution, but if he truly was to become renowned and famed in all scientific circles then why not have a Marine-Biology title under his belt too?

Still, maybe after watching that documentary he had learnt something. Maybe, deep down it had become the force behind his actions. The human race was like those ill-fated porpoises, controlled and mastered by the strings of life. Some attempted to fight whilst the majority were simply resigned to their fate and willing to drown quietly and peacefully. He snorted contemptuously. He wasn't like them! He'd be _insulted_ to even be compared to such weak-minded individuals!

No, he was a fighter. He was one of the dolphins who fought with their last damned breath in order to escape. But no! By the gods _he would not die_! He would be the first, and possibly the last to snap those bloody wires and break free into a better world! The other dolphins would gather and beg him to tell them exactly how he had triumphed over the seemingly inevitable fate of the suffocating net. But he would not tell them. It would probably blow their pathetic brains to even _attempt_ to comprehend his secrets. 

In the passion of his thoughts, Dr Hojo had leapt up from his slumped stance and begun to pace with a vicious fury across the lab floor. He _would_ be remembered. He would _not _die because his achievements and his glory would go on for millions of years to come. He would slice the strings of death and be forever known in his genius. 

And now life had presented him with the means to do so. As it was bitter and cruel, the one thing which provided him with existence had bestowed upon him a gift. It was his legacy and means to immortality. Just as his own body would eventually die and rot, returned to the planet to fuel the next incompetent buffoon to succumb to the fishing net, one privileged being would bear the enormity of the wonders he had to show the universe. 

The child. 

It didn't even have a name yet; not like that mattered. God's didn't need names did they? And this infant, this human child who was the creation of the chaotic universe would be honed to perfection by himself, the tool of science. 

The theory of relativity, quantum physics, Newton's laws and many others took the time to explain the world; they were all pitiful. 

Hojo couldn't help but allow another smile to grace his impassionate features. Screw them all and their suffocating lives. Fuck all the scientists who believed in succumbing to and obeying nature. _He_ was the only one who would dare to take the next logical step.

He'd take out his scalpel, bathed in iodine to maintain sterility of course, and he'd slice through the fishing wire and step calmly through the other side. True, he wasn't about to take the indescribable gifts he had to offer _himself_ and so he would never know what it was like to fly at the dizzying heights of godhood. He himself would be immortalised in words and scientific worship. But the very fact that his name would be credited for such an incredible accomplishment was wondrous enough. It was enough to make his mouth water in anticipation.

That's why twenty-eight years was nothing. That's why ten thousand, two hundred and twenty-seven days were little more than a second in his own eyes. It would be worth the wait. He _knew_ it. He felt it right down to his core and with the realisation, shivers of pleasure ran up and down his spine; butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

His moment of elation was shattered all too soon however as footsteps, clicking loudly and clipply on the tiled floor came into the small room. Hojo lifted his head and peered intently, with undisguised eagerness on his features. A fragile looking woman entered, her Wutaneese background more than apparent on her slanted eyes and delicate frame. He too was from that most traditional town but had broken free and now stood exempt from its restricting rituals and 'codes of honour', scorning the ways which had kept the townspeople 'stuck in a rut' for the past few centuries. She however embraced her hometown, much to his annoyance and was proud of her heritage, ashamed of him for not doing the same. 

Her dark brown hair was pulled back loosely into a plait which reached down to her waist. A pair of light brown and once lively and joyous eyes set into unnaturally pale skin stared back at him wearily over a pair of half-moon spectacles. Her lips were pressed tightly together, a bloodless white from the pressure of the expression making her seem so much more sickly. 

An ID badge hung from one of the pockets of her buttoned lab-coat with a photo showing her to be a smiling, and beautifully happy young woman. Now Dr Mai Ling stood a shadow of what she had once been.

"The baby has been safely delivered, Dr Hojo," she said weakly. Dark smudges ringed her eyes and amplified her frail appearance. She herself had given birth only a few days before, but duty had tied her to this laboratory, much against her will. Still, Hojo had a persuasive way which had attracted her to his ideas and ways of thinking no matter how insane they seemed since their first meeting many years before. 

She swallowed forcefully in his presence and felt an unconscious chill grasp at her heart. Over the past few months he had become so much more obsessed with this Project of his, dragging along herself and fellow scientists through sickness, evil and the lowest levels of depravity. It was more than a passing interest; it had become his only reason to live. A fact which saddened her beyond almost any other at that moment in time.

The smirk he had worn when she had originally entered broadened alarmingly into a maniacal grin. His dark, dark eyes lit up with a sick inner joy and he strode up to her, grabbing her shoulders roughly and forcing her to look up at him. Dr Hojo was certainly not a short man; he stood at six-feet tall with a frame which did not match his height. Like her, he also had an oddly fragile appearance but if he willed it, he could change from a weak looking zombie to someone so full of energy and life it was startling. She had seen the change come over him many times before, but now it seemed so much more frightening that she found herself taking a feeble step away from him. He didn't even seem to notice her reaction and he shook her enthusiastically, his hands still gripping her shoulders tightly like the claws of a murderous bird of prey.

"S, Safely? You said _safely_ didn't you??" he said ecstatically with a disturbing fervour.

She only managed a nod, opening her mouth to give him the exact details of the procedure before he thrust her to one side and walked briskly out of the doors she had entered through.

Dr Ling fell painfully onto one of the machines, gasping as her elbow cracked against one of the screens. Slowly, a tear ran from the corner of her right eye and she didn't bother to wipe it away. 

That had hurt, _so_ much. 

In her weakened state she was surprised that her arm hadn't even been broken. Hojo _knew_ how ill she had been. Why couldn't he be more careful? But, why should he care? She was just another co-worker after all. 

No, now she was even less than that. Especially with the arrival of his legacy. Why should she or any of the other scientists matter now that he had what he wanted? 

But somehow, that still didn't make it right… .

Corridor after corridor and lab after lab passed in a blur as Hojo strode quickly through the maze of passageways to his target. Several times he was forced to pause, unable to breathe due to the crazed laughter which kept on bursting forth from his mouth. 

He couldn't believe how elated he was! Finally, the child had arrived. It's mother… . Who even cared about its mother?? She was dead now, he had to admit that wondering if the child would survive had prevented him from sleeping. 

But here it was! "_Safely delivered_"!!

Another bout of insane laughter sucked the air from his lungs and he bent double, leaning with one hand against a wall to catch his breath. It was here! His moment was within his grasp with all its beauty! He could almost taste the deliciousness of the praise he was to receive upon his lips. He felt as though he could reach out and shake the latest President of ShinRa by the hand, a big fat grin on his face around a big fat cigar. He could smell that smoke in his nostrils, and what the hell? Maybe he'd have a cigar himself! He'd never smoked before, but why not now? Who was going to try and stop him?

Sucking in lungfuls of air, he pushed off from the wall and sprinted the rest of the way to his destination. It was only several metres down the corridor from where he stood, but he felt as though he flew every single step. His feet were not even touching the ground any more. The air he was inhaling was no long air. This was dream; a wonderful, gorgeous dream. It was the event he had fantasised about his entire life and now it was happening! Doctor Hojo would take his reward and he would parade it before the people who had even hinted at the possibility of his sanity crumbling. They would all regret their comments. Every one of those snivelling, weasels who called themselves scientists would bow at his feet and be clambering over themselves to touch the hem of his lab coat. He giggled to himself. No, maybe he wouldn't be revered quite as extremely as he'd like to envision, but it would sill be a monumental event.

He pushed open the silent double doors to the sterile laboratory in which the baby would be and entered with gusto, the doors banging loudly on the walls. An echo reverberated around the room like a gunshot and the five, weary looking scientists who milled around monitors and medieval looking equipment in stainless-steel jerked in alarm and turned to face him with startled expressions. Hojo had not removed the mad grin from his face since his previous bouts of laughter and as they looked up at him in shock and realised that he was not wielding a firearm, they found themselves wondering if they were actually any safer.

A twitching, nervous looking male scientist who appeared to be more like one of his experiments than an experimenter shuffled over to Hojo. His knuckles were white through tension, one of his hands grasping a biro and the other clutching a clipboard. With a trembling hand, he slowly held out the brown board towards his superior. 

"Th… th, the… d, d… de, t… tai… detai-" he stuttered hesitantly and Hojo snatched the information off him rudely, thrusting roughly him to one side.

"The details," he muttered under his breath as he passed the jittery man, not even affording him a solitary, arrogant glance to acknowledge his existence. The four remaining scientists stood either side of Hojo respectfully providing a path to the imposing man's source of interest. A lonely looking, burnished steel table stood in the very centre of the room; a good three metres away from any of the gadget laden walls. In the dead centre of the platform they lay a single, newborn, it's skin a snowy white against the steely background. 

As Hojo came barely a metre from the object of his desire, his steps which had previously seemed so full of joyousness and rapture became heavy and plodding. It was a moment he had been dreaming about his entire life, but to touch the fragile looking infant sprawled out on the hard and obviously cold apparatus would be like daring to attempt physical godhood himself. Just as waves of elation ran through his veins, he found an unjustified fear burn at the back of his mind. 

"What have I done…?" he whispered to himself in a breath so light, that even in the utterly still and silent room the others would not have heard. "This isn't right… . I've played God and tried to create another even greater than myself. What could justify such an act…? A being which could control the very universe itself… . Have I made a gun just to shoot myself with it? This will come back to haunt me… and if not, then it will destroy those who dare to exist after me… ."

His voice eventually faded into nothingness, and as he shook his head to disperse the panicked musings he was momentarily taken aback to find himself standing next to the table. He could have sworn that only a brief second ago he had been at least a metre away from it.

His mind and body now seemed completely oblivious to one another now; only his eyes remained, observing and taking in the alternate pairs of the being known as Dr Lee Hojo. They empathised with the guilt and fear stricken ramblings of the brain and almost screamed out in terror as uncontrollable arms stretched down towards the tiny baby.

Hojo slipped his hands around the waist of the child who simply stared up at him silently with unblinking eyes. Shallow, tiny breaths caused its chest to rise and fall with quiet sighs and every now and then it would twitch an arm or leg experimentally. Hojo was more than well aware than babies should not even be able to focus their eyes until they were at least five weeks old. The very fact that he was being observed with a frighteningly intelligent rationality by a baby barely an hour old was sign enough that his experiments has worked. Almost all of the people he had worked with in his life had lacked such an obvious intellect. 

The skin of the infant was oddly cold, but he placed that to the fact that it had been lying upon the icy metal table since it had been cleaned up from its undoubtedly messy birth. Ignoring whatever terrifying thoughts had cried out in his head before, he lifted it up from its metal bed and held it level with his eyes.

There wasn't a sound from the other five scientists occupying the room and even if there had been he would not have heard it. His tumultuous ideas had faded into oblivion as a torrent of some unidentifiable emotion gushed through his soul. Again he wanted to burst out into laughter, but somehow those oddly cold and intelligent eyes kept him in check.

The door to the laboratory opened silently behind him, and like a weak shadow Dr Mai Ling stepped in and watched Hojo tearfully, a remorseful emotion bubbling up from her heart. She bit her bottom lip to remain undetected and pressed her back against a computer panel in order to prevent her legs from collapsing beneath her. Soundlessly, she observed the peculiar ritual and waited.

"My… son…" Hojo murmured and the baby blinked imperturbably back at him as if to state its utter lack of interest in the situation. Hojo found a frown marring his otherwise benevolent expression. The child's visage however did not even twitch and it seemed to find an odd amusement in his father's discomfort.

The actual frame of the baby was oddly slender. Most babies tended to be reasonably rotund around the legs and waist he recalled idly. There was something not quite right about him, Hojo thought to himself as he scrutinised the object in his hands with squinted eyes behind thin glasses pushed up high on his nose. Was it the overly inquisitive and yet all knowing eyes which were slightly slanted to a lesser degree than his father's showing his non-Wutaneese heritage…? Or perhaps it was the shock of unnaturally coloured hair, which, in itself, seemed peculiarly long?

His arms beginning to ache, he lay the baby back down onto the table and tentatively reached out once more to touch it. His hand extended up and with surprising gentleness smoothed down the soft locks atop the infant's head. He allowed a few strands to drape through his fingers before he finally stepped back; a chill once more running up his spine with an unprompted sense of dread. He found himself suddenly reluctant to even gaze upon the fragile form. He _did_ look fragile; that was what it was. Most babies were robust and healthily chubby, but this _thing_… his _son_… was so different in so many indescribable ways that it would have driven him mad to even occupy the same room as him any more. Again a frown furrowed Hojo's brow and he stepped back quickly from the steel table. 

Without glancing back, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand and any previous signs of tenderness or reverence dissipated from his face. It was, after all a lump of flesh no matter how valuable and one which needed to be dealt with. 

The five male scientists who had stood silently behind him moved forward and lifted the infant from his bed and took him through to a room Hojo had passed on his wild flight to the lab. There it would undoubtedly be hooked up and wired to countless monitors and wicked, inhuman devices until he was 'complete' in the scientist's ever-critical eyes.

He gazed after the bizarre group for a few minutes before turning back to the table and resting upon it idly, his mind milling through the vast amounts of information presented to him.

Most babies examined their surroundings with a mild curiosity as though all they wished to do was lie on their back all day with a bottle when they wanted it and a sleep when they needed it. That baby… his _son_ however had given off such a powerful aura of understanding and knowledge that he found himself believing for a fraction of a second that it was more intelligent than any of them put together. 

He gave a snort and smiled to himself lightly at his humble wonderings. _He_ was the one who had thought all of this through. It was _his_ genius which had led to the fruits of a lifetime's work. No one could take that away from him; no one.

Still, perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him; it wouldn't be the first time after all.

He began to turn, too consumed in his musings to yet notice the presence of Dr Ling in the room. 

Despite all his weak comforts however, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the memory of the delicate child from his mind. 

His hair… and his eyes… . …How strange… .

_I've never seen hair or eye colour like that before… . They aren't natural… but then again, I suppose I should have expected something like this… ._


	2. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 1

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~ Stay With Me ~

By Lucrecia Marionette

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~Chapter 1~

Snowflakes whipped themselves into a wild frenzy, driven on by the incessant wind as it rolled across the landscape bringing sheets of pure white on its wings. The normally, soft undulating hills had been bleached by the smothering blankets of pallid weather and now seemed to be coated in powered diamonds. It glittered even from the distance she watched them.

Squares of light dappled the snow, beamed down from the windows of the small house. She stared at one even then observing the snow as it built up gradually in layer after fine layer in the gentle spotlight. She had remained that way for the past few hours and before then, days, weeks and months endlessly fusing to form a single life until she couldn't remember ever being anywhere else. Her fingers entwined among the frayed edges of the coarse and yet plump window cushion she sat upon. They had originally started to explore their surroundings unconsciously and now satisfied themselves with lying among the ragged tassels. A rough, brown blanket was pulled up to her waist and her left hand rested upon her lap, the other still among the frayed tufts of thread. Her ankles were crossed, her legs bent at the knees in order to hug the wall the seat was set into. Perhaps it was in some unperceiving wish to be as unintrusive to the room as possible. Maybe it was simply because it was the stature she had adopted for the past few years. It would require too much thought to alter it, and she had too much on her mind as it was.

She rested her forehead against the icy pane of the window and let out a sigh. The gust of warm breath blew out onto the frosty glass and it momentarily went a misty white. However, the sheer coldness of the air outside soon sucked away the haze, leaving it as crystalline and clear as before. She closed her eyes and rolled her head on the pane. She wasn't hot, but the biting chill seemed to drag her back into the reality which was so bitter to her at that moment in time.

After remaining stationary, her skin still pushed up against the glass for a few minutes she opened her eyes. At first, blurred white movement was the only thing visible to her. After a few seconds however she focused upon a single, delicate snowflake. It danced before her eyes, the barrier of glass the only thing keeping the two objects separate. Soft winds, muffled by the position of the house caused the tiny crystal to swirl around in the eddies caused by the haphazard structure. It eventually drifted towards the window where it stuck against the pane and allowed her to briefly gaze upon the impossibly intricate structure of the minute ice crystal. The heat from her breath however had lingered in the transparent screen and the snowflake melted within the blink of an eye, reduced to a smooth droplet of water. It hung, suspended on its landing place for a while before eventually flowing downwards drawn inevitably by gravity. She followed its irregular path for a few minutes until it eventually reached the sill where it mingled with the pile of white snow which had fallen there throughout the past few days of blizzard. 

She gave another sigh, more out of weariness and sat up straight, turning from the window to look into the room she occupied. It was strange, she realised, how she had been sitting there for so long and yet had never cared to examine her surroundings. The ambience was subdued and faint, in truth; the light bulb which suspended shadeless in the middle of the ceiling had broken a long time ago. Now the only light came from a fireplace on the wall to her right and a small, half-melted candle balanced upon a chest of drawers on her left. Mako had long ceased to be used; wood, although crude and bulky provided a much more pleasant atmosphere anyway she mused. The dim yet warm light cast out by the flames was helped marginally to brighten the room by the creamy yellow paint, outlined by old black beams which criss-crossed the roof and walls. An ancient looking, small four-post bed jutted out into the room, it's headboard pressed against the wall opposite her. 

The chamber was the epitome of comfort and warmth; both regarded as being the true forms of tranquillity and contentment. However, the physical appearance of the place she had contained herself within was a mockery of how she felt inside. A heart yearning and a soul aching; could life get any worse? That was what she had been asking herself over and over again for the past three years but still no answer had come to her. 

Now it was no longer a question, it was merely a mantra; a phrase which said continuously allowed her to remain in her state of continuous meditation. Her eyes constantly trained to the horizon in order to catch a glimpse of a glint of silver as light reflects off the buckles of a sword holder, or perhaps hear the soft call of a young chocobo as it alerts his owners to his presence. No such luck though… . People delivering coal and oil from far away Correl; coffee and exotic goods from Costa del Sol were the only real strangers to the town of Kalm. Normally she'd put on a brave front and greet them as they came with her Gil in one hand and order form in the other. But that had ended six months ago. She had a lot of thinking to do, and liquor orders were not on her list of priorities… . 

As she turned her head to face the window, a soft knock brought her attention back to the room. For many hours now, the only sounds had been the flaccid whistling of the wind as it attempted to push through the walls and into the sealed chamber and the occasional crackling of the logs on the fireplace. 

"Come in," she called softly, momentarily overwhelmed at the sound of her own voice.

The door opened hesitantly and slowly as though the person on the other side was fearful of what they'd find. Eventually it opened fully and the light from another candle flowed in to consume the darkness which had existed undisturbed for so long now. A woman, perhaps in her forties stood in the doorway, her light brown hair which was now streaked with one or two grey hairs was pulled back loosely into a pony-tail, more than half of it draped over her face. She looked with undisguised concern at the figure sat on the window seat from behind her round glasses which had always seemed ridiculously large for her face.

She gave a comforting smile and stepped into the room, a tray with an object upon it held before her. Without saying another word she walked over to the chest of drawers and placed the tray down gently so as not to disturb the hushed atmosphere. Once there, she lifted a bowl from off it and put it on the polished wood, glancing indifferently at another bowl with the exactly the same delicate blue pattern around the rim. Like the one she had brought in, it was full with a yellowy soup, carrots and potatoes floating upon the surface. She didn't even have to reach out to know that it would be freezing cold; the silver spoon by its side unused. 

"You didn't eat the soup I brought earlier," she said eventually. It was a statement more than a question and there was little emotion in the words. It was clear she had been expecting such an event.

"I wasn't hungry," came the reply.

Shera nodded without understanding or even the pretence to; it would undermine the suffering of the young woman to attempt to comprehend what she was going through. She simply felt as though she had to give some confirmation of her friend's words without speaking herself. 

She silently lifted up the cold dish and put it on the tray, leaving behind the spoon. Unwilling to leave so quickly she softly prodded the buttered bread which had been brought in with the first bowl of soup many hours before. 

"This bread's stale," she reported to no one in particular. "I'll bring some up in a minute."

"That won't be necessary."

Shera gave a weary sigh and for the first time in the past few weeks dared to show the bar hostess the physical tiredness which plagued her body. Her posture seemed so much more tired, even her glasses appeared as though they were about to fall off her face through sheer exhaustion. She put one hand on her hips and ran the other through her hair, eventually holding her posture as her palm rested on the back of her head.

"You have to eat something, Tifa," she answered gently, but with firmness. "You haven't eaten anything for two days."

"I did yesterday."

Shera almost laughed aloud at the statement. "You had half an apple," she answered incredulously, with a snort of disbelief. "Starving yourself isn't going to help matters!"

Tifa blinked slowly as she stared back at the older woman, no emotion crossing her visage which seemed to have aged so much despite her youth. Shera sighed as she gazed back at her. Wide, burgundy eyes ringed from beneath by dark smudges accentuated by the poor lighting and shadows in the room gave the only outward signs of how she felt within. Terrified, misgiving and very much alone despite her friends. With the coarse brown blanket pulled up around her waist and long brown hair sitting in a dishevelled manner around her shoulders Shera realised that the young woman wouldn't be out of place begging or scrounging for food in the ruins of Midgar. 

With a moan, she moved over and sat next to Tifa, lifting a lock of the hair and holding it before her face. "You used to have… such _beautiful_ hair," she breathed emphatically with obvious sorrow. "I always admired it; since I was a little girl I always wanted long hair, but in my line of work it was impractical. Your hair always used to glow when it shone; it was so luxurious and soft." Her hands dropped limply onto her lap. "Now you don't even bother brushing it," she ended in a whisper. 

Tifa's haggard face crumpled although whether it was through sorrow or thoughtfulness, Shera was unsure.

"You sit here and wait for Cloud, day after day; night after night. If he were to come back, do you think he'd be happy to see you like this? Or do you think that the one thought which would make him come back here is that of you greeting him with a successful bar and happy patrons behind you, a rosy complexion and your wonderful hair shining?" She shook her head sadly. "If he knew what you were doing to yourself then just think what he'd do. He'd say 'Tifa… why have you done this to yourself? Where has that spark gone I used to love and adore so much?'"

"… And I'd answer, 'It went with you the second you left my arms to look for something you knew you could never have'." Tifa responded. Her words were not full of the resentment and bitterness Shera could have expected with such an answer. Instead all of the weariness and fatigue which she had been attempting to disguise for so long now poured out. There were no tears; Shera suspected that she had wept them all out as she sobbed quietly to herself every night, attempting to muffle her wails of anguish in a pillow without avail. Of course she and Cid had said nothing so as not to make Tifa regret their company or care but they tried their hardest to walk around her carefully, attempting to make conversation whenever they could and act normally. But in the present circumstances it was beyond impossible.

"I'm sorry, dear," Shera sighed with a forced, apologetic smile. "That was too blunt of me."

Tifa shook her head. "It's okay," she replied quietly. "I understand."

Shera patted the hand of the young woman which rested on the window seat and stood, making her way back towards the dressing table. She glanced back at the bar hostess. "Do you want this soup taking away… or will you feel like eating something soon?"

For a few seconds it appeared as though she was not about to receive an answer, but eventually Tifa's head lifted and she looked back at Shera, an oddly familiar look in her eyes.

"You can take it away," she started and Shera turned away with an unsurprised expression and began to stack the tray in preparation. "But… could you make me a drink of coffee? I'll be downstairs in a minute. I need to change… these clothes are getting far too dirty."

Shera looked back, an overwhelming feeling of relief and joy swelling up in her heart as a broad smile broke out on her face. "There's a good girl," she whispered approvingly. "I'll get Cid to stoke up the fire; it's far too chilly in the kitchen and I don't want you catching a cold in your state."

Tifa smiled in response and gave a nod. "Okay then," she said calmly in return. "I've been thinking and now it's time I acted. This view is starting to get boring… and you're right. Cloud wouldn't want me sat up her doing nothing all day. I have to pull myself together."

Shera continued to beam happily back at her almost forgetting what she was mean to do. Eventually, the cheery and greatly uplifted expression still on her face she lifted the tray and walked from the room, Tifa gazing thoughtfully after her.


	3. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 2

Stay With Me 

By Lucrecia Marionette

~Chapter 2~

Cid played numbly with his cigarette, flipping the cylindrical object along the back of his fingers and them rolling it along his fingertips back to the ashtray. He had been watching it for the past few minutes now, but had ceased focusing on it long before. If anyone had cared to ask him exactly what he was doing it would have taken him half an hour to re-adjust himself and notice his surroundings. His mind was just in that state; the state between consciousness and unconsciousness. He'd had far too much time to think recently and in his own opinion it was more detrimental to his health than any smoke or shot of whiskey. You could recover from those, but the things that crept into a man's mind when he had too much time on his hands could never be erased.

That was how Shera found him as she quietly, and with restrained excitement, opened the kitchen door. Cid glanced up at her without apparent interest and quickly turned his eyes back down to their previous position. He did a double take however as he was momentarily taken aback to notice the broad grin covering her weary features. He loved that smile; the way it illuminated her whole face despite the fact they'd been sat together worrying for the past four months. Her bright brown irises twinkled gleefully behind her large, round glasses and faint laughter lines wrinkled in the corners of her eyes. Even the sight of her so happy made his own lips turn upwards in half-puzzlement, half empathic joy.

"What're you smiling at?" he asked her, his blonde brows knitted together although he spoke through smiling teeth.

Shera beamed happily back at him for a few seconds before hastily sitting down on a chair opposite him. She planted her palms on the soft wooden top and leant across it towards him as though he couldn't hear her from a metre away and bit her bottom lip through restrained excitement. "She's coming downstairs!" she told him. At the thoroughly simple and apparently meaningless statement, Cid leapt up off his feet and ran over to her side.

"Wh-what?" he gasped in delight. "Tifa? She's coming down here??"

Shera nodded quickly and Cid lifted her off the chair and embraced her joyfully, the shorter female scientist wrapping her arms around his middle. Cid gave a whoop of happiness and they danced around the small kitchen table, almost knocking chairs down as they twirled around ecstatically. 

"I can't believe it!" Cid exclaimed breathlessly when they found themselves bent over double in an attempt to reclaim their breath. "She's been up there for the past four months! What did you say to change her mind?"

Shera shook her head with one hand on her chest as she inhaled deeply and let it out as a contented sigh. "I honestly don't know, Cid. We were talking, which was wonderful enough! But then I started to leave and she asked me to make her a drink because she's coming down here!"

Cid grinned broadly and rubbed his temples with disbelief. "All this time…" he breathed emphatically. "She's been up there all this time moping after that idiot who left her. He deserves all he damned well gets, but to leave her alone like that…! What a bastard, I can't believe him!"

"Cid!" Shera hissed suddenly. "Don't say things like that! If she comes down here and hears you she'll go running back upstairs and start crying all over again."

"But Shera, I only meant-!"

"No buts!" the technician contended firmly. "It took her three months to stop when we first came here. If you set her off again then only God knows how long it'll take her to calm down once more."

The pilot nodded weakly in response, scratching the back of his head remorsefully. "I suppose," he murmured gently. "But just thinking about it makes me so mad! If he walked in through that door right now I'd punch him so hard in the face he wouldn't be able to remember what he came back for."

"Sit down, Cid," Shera ordered gently as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "We have to remain normal. If she thinks we were ever giving her any kind of special treatment or worrying about her to the extent we have been, she'll regret us ever being here. I don't think I could live with myself if the poor dear sent us away and something happened to her. She's already wasted away…"

Her voice trailed off as she recalled her touch of the dry, brittle hair. It had once felt so silky and smooth in her touch; now it was lifeless and flat like its owner. It was a tragic, tragic sight. At the memory she began to wonder herself whether she'd be pushing her husband out of the way to get a good hard slap on the face of the man who had turned such an angel into a dull mortal. She tensed her jaw and walked sullenly to the coal stove in one corner of the kitchen. 

Cid leant back in his old creaky chair and lit a cigarette idly blowing a plume of smoke into the warm air. A fire crackled before him and he extended his bare feet towards it feeling the heat spread up his legs. What had seemed like such an empty room only five minutes ago now seemed full of a renewed hope and trust. His eyes glazed over in thought as he unconsciously took another drag from his cigarette and stared into the hot yellow flames before him. The air had felt so stagnant and humid but now it embraced him warmly and clung to his skin and clothes with the orange light of the blaze which bathed his front half. 

He could've stayed like that comfortably forever simply knowing that one of his best friends had overcome an immense personal battle regardless of situation and his work was almost over. It was a completely delicious feeling and his eyes drooped lazily for a few minutes. On the stove behind him, a black kettle whistled and a door opened quietly as a slip of a once-healthy woman stepped through conscientiously. 

Her wide burgundy eyes flitted over the scene before her with a sense of sadness. Cid perched on a chair beside the fire almost falling asleep and Shera busying herself with the cooker. _That should've been Cloud and I_ she told herself mournfully. _That should be him there, half-asleep with aching muscles after a day out chasing monsters. And I should be the one at the stove making him a meal so we can sit together quietly and talk about what we've done today_.

Her eyes quickly brimmed with tears and she suddenly choked on a sob, blinking hard and covering her mouth with her hands.

Cid jerked around in startlement to see her lurking in the shadows behind him in the doorway. He stood up hastily and moved over to her softly with one hand outstretched. "Tifa…" he consoled gently. "What's wrong?"

The young woman shook her head and waved a hand dismissively as she fought back her tears. "I-It's nothing, Cid," she lied in a whisper. "I was just reminded of something, that's all."

He wore a concerned frown as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her walk to the chair he had occupied before standing to her aid. Ensuring that she was comfortable, he stood aside as Shera set down a cup of coffee by her side. The couple eventually stood together, exchanging worried glances as they observed their care stare impassively into the fire. Swallowing to clear her throat, Tifa slowly turned her head to face them. They met her gaze uncomfortably, suddenly feeling intrusive in her private time as she once more acquainted herself with the room she hadn't seen for four months.

"Please," she began to alleviate their fears. "Sit down."

They did as she asked and the three faced the fire with an awkward period of silence as the logs spluttered and sparked lazily in the flames. The couple watched her for a moment longer and observed as every now and then her long lashes fluttered hastily over her eyes to keep back the tears they knew wanted to brim from her soul. She was a proud one though, one who was never ready to succumb to the will of emotions. That's why it had taken an entire year after the Meteor Crisis to admit her feelings to Cloud. That's why it had taken three years for her to finally break down after he had upped and left her in the solitary town of Kalm to cope with a business and life on her own. 

Cid stubbed out his cigarette and gritted his teeth sorrowfully. He no longer felt angry; he was hurt. Hurt for himself and hurt for her. _It's a damned shame_ he muttered mentally. _No matter what anyone else says, it's a damned shame… ._

Her eyes shone with a haunted gleam as though she had looked into the very corners of her soul and not liked what she saw. Her frame was weak and wane; nothing like the build of that strong, and wonderfully healthy woman he had admired so much only three years ago. 

"You're both wondering why I've decided to leave my room," Tifa spoke unexpectedly and her audience lifted their heads at the sound, pulled thoroughly from their personal meditations. They looked to one-another in a moment's hesitation and began falteringly.

"I won't lie to you, Tifa. I won't insult you," Cid answered for them. "It was great to hear that you wanted to get out of that room but you don't look any better. You know we've been worrying so this is a huge step for you."

Tifa gave a single, slow nod but didn't turn to look at them. They continued to gaze at her however and awaited her explanation with baited breath.

"You're right. It was hard leaving... I didn't want to. In fact, a part of me still wants to go back up there… but I won't." She clenched a fist and closed her eyes tightly. "I _won't_," she repeated with an almost angry firmness. "It's time I pulled myself together and got on with my life. But…. I can't do it on my own."

Shera gave a comforting smile and placed a hand over one of Cid's. Their fingers entwined lovingly and their eyes met. "We'll be here if you need us, Tifa," the older woman told her. "We've no business left in Rocket Town and we've enjoyed every minute of tending the bar." She cut herself short and bit her tongue as she felt herself about to say how much they'd enjoyed looking after _her_ but realised her mistake in time. "What I'm trying to say, is that if you're asking us to stay for longer we truly won't mind."

Tifa eventually looked over at them with a forced, weak smile but gave a shake of her head, her dull hair falling around her shoulders. "No," she said simply.

Cid's brow furrowed and he leant slightly towards her. "What do you mean? Shera wasn't saying that just to comfort you, y'know. We really _will_ stay here if you want us to. You know me; if I don't want to do something then I'll sure as hell say so!"

Tifa gave another smile, much more genuine but still shook her head sadly.

"It's not like that," she responded softly. "I can't thank you both enough for what you've done. If you hadn't been here for all this time, I seriously feel as though I would've…" her voice died to a whisper and her vision went blurry as tears formed again. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand in a half-irritated gesture and continued. "You're both in the prime of your lives and you shouldn't be here looking after a fully-grown woman. By now you should have kids of your own to worry about; you should be making plans for the future and trying to decide what colour schemes you'll be using in your living room. But not this; anything but this."

There was another period of silence which seemed to creep from the shadows at their back and pounce on them at the remorseful statement. Shera's hand squeezed Cid's and he patted her lap fondly in return. There was no use in denying what Tifa had said; the past few months had been quiet and calming certainly, but they'd had no time to plan their own lives. They'd been so busy worrying about their friend's that whatever they had left back in Rocket Town had fallen into obscurity. 

Maybe it was time they left her alone; maybe it was time to quit stifling her and force her to live out the life they had been running for her. Shera felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over her at the thought that it was their fault that Tifa had been so depressed. Without the motivation to continue, had the young woman just sunk into sorrow? "I'm so sorry," Shera whispered tearfully and her companions looked at her questioningly. "We've been stopping you from moving on, haven't we? It's our fault you've been like this-"

Tifa shook her head violently. "No!" she cried in horror. She stood up and walked quickly over to Shera's side where she wrapped her arms around the woman's shoulders. "Shera, over the past few months you've been like the mother I lost! You've been so caring and kind that it's made me realise how much I'm missing out on and how people are suffering because of me. It's because of your care with Cid that I've finally dragged my life together and made a choice."

"Really…?" 

Tifa nodded deliberately at the technician and stood before the fireplace with a look of resolve on her face which reminded Cid happily of the Meteor Quest. All of a sudden the young woman who had sunk and drowned without a trace in the ocean of sorrow had surfaced and was back with vehemence. The sight almost made him grin, but he refrained himself from doing so as he held Shera tightly and tried to understand what on earth he was hearing.

"So what's the choice you've made then?" he asked her after tense silence had passed for a few minutes.

Tifa took a deep breath. "I'm leaving," she replied resolutely. "I'm getting out of my house and I'm getting off this damned continent."

The couple's eyes widened alarmingly. They'd been hoping for a change, but this was beyond what they had even dared to dream for! "L-Leave the continent??" Cid stuttered in shock once he had rediscovered his voice. "Where are you going??"

Tifa's front quickly fell and once again she was the tired, weak looking girl that had been sat up in her bedroom for the past four months. Her eyes were shadowed by the lack of sleep playing on her body, and her shoulders slumped exhaustedly. They almost stood in order to make sure she didn't collapse, but through some hidden strength she continued to lean upon the mantelpiece above the fire. "H-He… _Cloud_ told me that if he wasn't back in a year I was to move on with my life. He hasn't come back but no matter how hard I try, I just can't forget him," she murmured over the subdued crackling of the fire. Cid's face crumpled and he tilted his head downward, unable to meet Tifa's gaze in fear of the hurt he would see in her once vivacious and energetic eyes. "I can't forget him, not while I'm here. Not while I'm in the home that we built together when I decided how much I loved him and how much he means to me."

Her voice trembled and Cid forced himself to look up once more in morbid curiosity but instead of a sobbing heap he saw a gradually growing determination in her. Once more she seemed to stand tall, but her eyes… oh god her eyes… .

"We spent the first few months of our lives together after the defeat of Meteor travelling this continent. If I were to walk into Junon, or Fort Condor I'd think only of him. I'd see a dent in a road where he'd once trod in a puddle or a tree his eyes would wander to as they used to whenever he spoke. I just couldn't live with that. I can't completely ignore the life I've made for myself here, but I can't carry on with it either. I need to start afresh, in _here_," she told them, clenching a fist and placing it over her heart.

"You've both been so supportive, everyone has, but it isn't enough. I needed the company to keep myself sane. But in my heart I'm still screaming out loud and there's no one to listen."

Her eyes closed and she sighed deeply as though gathering the courage to announce herself. "I need someone to listen," she breathed wistfully. "You're all such wonderful, wonderful friends but you all have what you hold most dear close to you. I've lost the only thing I think I'll ever love and I just don't know how to cope. Barret has Marlene and Nanaki has the Canyon to occupy himself with. 

"There is only one I know of who is still trying to deal with being alone."

Cid whistled through his teeth and blinked a few times to clear his mind of surprise. "Vincent," was all he said.

Tifa made no physical motion to agree or disagree, but as she raised her eyes the glint in the wine-coloured depths said it all. "Yes…" she whispered. "Vincent."

Shera glanced between the two members of AVALANCHE with an element of uncertainty. Eventually her stare fell upon Tifa. "Mr Valentine… . He lives in Nibelheim doesn't he?"

Cid nodded by her side. "Yeah. He moved there after we all split; he lives in the Mansion I think."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, and forgive me for sounding discourteous, but I don't think he's the best person in the world to speak with about coping with heartbreak. We've heard nothing from him since he left your group and on the few occasions I met him he wasn't the kind of man I thought of as owning a happy past. He was always so dark and brooding… so melancholy and depressed. Tifa dear," she pleaded with a beseeching look. "If you go to him, you might end up just _like_ him. You'll learn how to get over this in all the wrong ways and any spirit you have will be finally crushed!"

Cid was silent for a while before slowly raising his eyes to meet Tifa's. "She's right," he agreed carefully. "Vincent's the kind of person who thinks that sleeping in a coffin for thirty-three years, and moping around in shadows without talking to anyone is the best way to forget a loved one."

"But Vincent didn't _want_ to forget," Tifa argued. "That's why he was always so secretive and broody. He was too busy thinking about _her_, about _Lucrecia_ to pay attention to us. You two and everyone else wants me to just forget about Cloud as though he never existed! I can't do that! I grew up with him and ever since I first met him I knew I loved him and I can't move on and deny that. I need to find out how I can return to my normal life and always cherish the feelings I have for him in my soul. Vincent is the only one who I know can manage that."

She stood trembling, passion overwhelming her senses as she justified herself to the two people who had been her parents for the past few months. But she wasn't a child! Who were they to stop her from leaving and going where she wanted??

_They're your friends_ a voice deep inside reminded her. _You know that they only want what's best for you._

She blinked hard and stared at them with an ambiguous mixture of anger and pain.

"He's been through more than any of us," Cid sighed after a prolonged period of suffocating stillness. He put his hands on the table before him and looked down at them with an unfocused stare. "The pain he's been through… not all of it's the same as yours. Hojo put him through hell remember and what you may learn from him won't be right for you. Each man's personal agony is different and you may find that you start punishing yourself for things which never happened."

Tifa took a few steps forward and then dropped to her knees opposite the table to the Pilot. She leant her elbows on the wooden surface and placed her thin, worn hands over his own weathered ones. He looked at her.

"Why do you want to stop me from going, Cid?" she whispered and his steely blue eyes were blacked as he blinked several times to centre his attention on her. She tried to read his face, but the only thing that was apparent was pure and unadulterated concern. She wasn't sure whether to hate him for his pity or love him for it. 

"Because," he started falteringly. "They guy's not… _right_ Tifa. He travelled with us all for about a year and we learnt _nothing _about him. He's just like one big mystery wrapped up in a vampiric little package, y'know?"

"But what we _do_ know about him is that he hates all that part of himself. He doesn't revel in it and he never took advantage of his abilities or us. Right from the very start, even when you weren't there we knew about his transformations and his," she hesitated. "… Vampirism. It's nothing to do with us and he doesn't need to tell us that. I'm not going to Nibelheim to start probing into the very depths of his history. I'm just going to find out how to remember Cloud. I mean; do I see him for his cocky little way of standing and his tone of voice when he was ordering us around? Or do I see the way that he loved Aeris so deeply, right until the end?" Her voice cracked and Cid felt her hands tense feebly over his own. "Or do I just remember _everything_? The nights we spent gazing up at the stars and the petty little arguments we'd have over 'who owned what materia'."

"And you think Vince is just gonna hand out a booklet telling you how to mourn the loss of a loved one?"

Tifa glared at him with an unconstrained ire. "You're not making this easy for me, Cid," she admonished angrily. "If you were a true friend then you'd let me go and not hold me here like a child!"

She pushed up off the table away from him and gagged on a sob as she fled the room slamming the door behind her. The fire flickered more brightly in the grate at the sudden gush of air and a chair toppled as she shoved past it. Other than that however the room was as still and lifeless as it had before the young woman's arrival. Any good humour and joy which had laced the atmosphere with a lost happiness was consumed in the vivid flames and swept up the flume before the couple remaining could draw a breath. 

Cid silently stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his face. 

"Damn," was all he could think to say.


	4. Stay With me ~ Chapter 3

Stay With Me 

By Lucrecia Marionette

~Chapter 3~

Tifa flung herself onto her cot, her feet barely making contact with the creaky floorboards as she flew up the stairs and through the landing. She'd torn open her door with a vehement anguish and collapsed onto her double bed, entwining her fingers in the sheets and pressing her face into the mountain of pillows.

Her face shoved up against the soft, muffling furnishings she let out a heart-breaking wail and no longer fought back the tears which had threatened to tear her apart downstairs.

Why couldn't they understand? Why were they holding her back like this?

She continued to sob violently, pouring out her total misery in an action she knew was pointless. It was pointless because she'd been doing it for the past four months and it had done nothing. Cloud hadn't come back; her life still lay in tatters like forgotten riches of a once great realm and her heart still swelled with sorrow at so much as a single word. Tears had returned none of those things to her so why should it be any different now?

The morose musings only furthered her grief and she pushed herself deeper into the sheets to let out another wracking sob. So consumed in her grieving she didn't hear the soft click and gentle groan of her bedroom door as it was pushed open. In fact, it wasn't until she felt a soothing hand brush upon her shoulders did she start. 

Bending back suddenly with a gasp, she twisted around; her arms still buried beneath the pillows. Her blurred gaze fell upon Shera and she scowled. 

"Why did you come up here?" she demanded fiercely. Her long hair sticking dishevelled in every direction and glowering expression made her seem like some kind of wild thing tearing itself to pieces as an animal would chew off its leg to escape a snare.

Brushing off the analogy but unable to dismiss it completely Shera drew back slightly and resigned herself to sitting on the very end of the bed. She clasped her hands together loosely and stared down at them for a few moments before even attempting to speak.

"Tifa," she began gently. "Cid doesn't want to stop you doing what you wish and nor do I. We simply want you to see the whole picture. Vincent _will_ help you deal with your circumstances; if he's _ever_ been a friend to you he will. But Cid's right too, think of how little you know about the man you seek advice from. We can't even be sure that he truly lives in Nibelheim because he hasn't contacted us."

She looked up and dared to meet the gaze of the distraught young woman. Noticing the attention of the female technician, Tifa quickly rubbed her face to rid the signs of her emotion and assumed an impassive expression; inwardly ashamed of how she appeared.

"We only want you to be safe. Mr Valentine was a Turk and that is not something you forget in a hurry. The things he must've done in the past will haunt the man he has become and destroy him from the inside out. If you spend too much time with him, those worries may spread to you until you're little more than a shadow of Tifa Lockheart who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Everyone can, in some way, link themselves to events which have happened in the present and in the past. With the state you're in, you're perfect to start doing this. Before you even realise it you'll believe that the all the evil in the world stemmed from yourself!" Shera exclaimed in a very serious tone. "You'll be just like him and I couldn't bear to watch that happen to anyone. Least of all you my dear."

Tifa sniffed and rubbed her eyes once more. "I know you care," she responded quietly. "But this is something I have to do. Maybe it really is because I'm selfish and I want to feel even more depressed so that my problems with Cloud are little more than drops in the ocean. Perhaps I just want to make my peace with a person I've never even had a conversation with before." She pulled herself up and shook her head wearily. "Whatever the reason, I know you'll support me and I thank you for it. I don't ask anything more from you, only that you take me to him. You can contact me all you like and phone every night if you wish!

"But," she ended wearily as she tilted her head back and gestured to the cosy and yet cold room around herself. "I have to get out of here. Nibelheim perhaps isn't the best place to go in order to forget about my childhood sweetheart, but I have to start somewhere."

Her speech over, Tifa shuffled to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over into a sitting position, the tips of her toes brushing against the lukewarm floor. She held her chin in her hands gloomily. Her eyes stared into the fire and her mind ran blank as she inwardly realised her decision had been made regardless of what anyone else said. Perhaps it was this defiant streak which had led her to this dilemma in the first place? She was maybe too stubborn to forgive and forget; ignore the presence that had once been a part of her life called Cloud Strife and deny he was ever with her.

That certainly would be the easy route, wouldn't it?

But she never had been one to take the easy route. Why couldn't she have settled down with that boy from her town; the one whose parents owned the Inn? Why did she have to start travelling all the way across the world and fight a ghost from her past?

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, holding a lock before her face. Shera was right; where it has once been so smooth and silky, like satin in her hands, now it was drab and dull without so much as a glimmer of light reflected from the fire. The orange glow bathed all part of being except the tumble of chocolate strands which absorbed the light with a hungry fervour. What a mess she'd become. What a personification of self-absorption. 

She suddenly felt very open and ashamed. She'd behaved like a child and expected them to stop treating her as one. It wasn't as easy as that and as she felt Shera moved cautiously up to her, she knew it. _It's a wonder she's still willing to be in the same room as me. I've been like nothing more than a spoilt brat… ._

To her deep astonishment she felt a hand lightly rest upon her shoulder. She looked up.

"You have to understand that we don't want to hold you back. We've never tried to and I can only apologise from the depths of my heart if you feel we have and resent us for doing so. I talked to Cid before I came up… he and I both agree that we can't step in and attempt to control what you do any more. You're a fully-grown woman and have been through as much, if not more than either of us. Part of me feels that I should hold you back for precisely that reason. But then my mind forces me to let go and allow you to make your own choices.

"Cid's a passionate man, you know that as well as I do. He always listens to his heart and never his head which has got him into more trouble than I could ever account for. Fortunately I forced him to calm down and I talked some sense into that thick skull of his."

Tifa blinked to wash away the tears as she noticed a new emotion come over the woman's voice.

"You can go if you want to." Shera ended and Tifa stopped breathing through utter disbelief for a fraction of a second. As the words seeped slowly in tendrils of truth into her soul she suddenly sprang forward and threw her arms around Shera. The technician's glasses almost fell off due to the unexpectedness of the motion, but giving a slight laugh, she embraced the member of AVALANCHE in return.

"Oh thank you, Shera. Thank you!" Tifa wept as she pressed her face into Shera's shoulder. "I wanted to go, I want to leave so badly, but I couldn't do it if I didn't have your blessing."

"I know dear, I know," Shera confided as she stroked her back comfortingly. "But, you know yourself better than Cid or I ever could. If you feel that this is what you should do-"

Tifa drew back and held her at arm's length. "It isn't what I _feel_," she responded with a burning sense of rightness which seemed to spring from the months and years of anxiety she'd accumulated over her time alone. "It's what I _know_. Vincent will help me; if anyone can, it's him. If he's not there, or even if he refuses me I'll come away with the realisation that I tried. If I sit here uselessly without another option I'll hate myself even more than I do."

"Oh Tifa. You don't _hate_ yourself do you…?"

She gave a single nod in return and her posture slumped a little as she stood and wrapped her arms around one of the bedposts. She pressed her cheek up against it and looked out of the dark, frosty window she had sat at for so many months. The coarse, brown blanket which had served as her shroud for so much time now lay discarded and useless in a sorry heap on the floorboards. The plump cushions which had been her seat sat empty and beckoning.

Out of the dark portal to the world outside, she knew every contour and dip of the rolling, white hills. She knew every blade of grass and patch of earth where spring flowers would shoot up from when the frosts subsided. She and Cloud had gone out to pick those wonderful blooms at the same time every year. They had done earlier that year too… before he left.

She gritted her teeth and turned away. "When can we leave…?" She asked quietly in a voice riddled with restrained anguish.

"We'll have to wait for the snow to lessen so that the Highwind can fly. Cid believes that it may clear up a little by tomorrow morning; he's worried about the ice in those clouds freezing up the fans."

Tifa nodded and swallowed. "Thanks," she whispered. "For everything. I know I've been like a child at times, always taking and never giving… but you've always known that I appreciate it. Everything you've done."

Shera pursed her lips together and gave a single, simple nod. If she refused the gratitude then there was always the chance that the young woman would be insulted and fly into yet another fit. She was far too emotional and open. Shera only prayed that she wasn't yet vulnerable enough to succumb to the darkness of the very thing she sought aid from.

Standing, Shera brushed down her long, blue and white checked skirt and straightened her thick, blue woollen sweater. Pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, she took a final glance around the dark chamber. The fire was dying down in the grate and had reduced to a safe but hot orange glow which bathed half the room in light and the other half in he blackest shadows. Tifa still stood possessively hugging the twisted wooden post but her gaze looked into the glowing embers. Her once delicate and now withered looking visage with skin stretched tautly over fleshless cheekbones and haunted brown eyes observed the only source of heat with a fixed stare. 

Shera wondered to herself whether or not to take the lack of shadows hanging around the slight figure to be a good omen.

Coughing out of need to create noise and dismiss her idle musings, she took a few steps back towards the doorway. She put her hand on the knob and gazed back at the room's solitary inhabitant. "You should get some sleep now," she said kindly. "Cid'll be wanting to get an early start tomorrow to avoid spectators; you know how much he hates having to shoo back people that stand too close to the engines." Shera paused momentarily; the mental image of Cid asking onlookers to 'shoo' was almost too much for her and she allowed a slight smile to play on her lips. Cid's language tended to be considerably more colourful when warning back the ignorant public and his actions didn't tend to be much better either.

"Anyway," she continued despite thoughtful distractions. "You'll need to pack in the morning too. I'll wake you at around seven. Will that be alright?"

Tifa looked up at her and smiled brightly in return. "That's wonderful, Shera. Thanks."

The older woman beamed back happily in response and excused herself.

****

____________________________________________________

"Well? What did she say? She's not really pissed off with me is she??"

Shera's eyes widened alarmingly at the sudden barrage of questions as she stepped into the kitchen. Cid had grasped her shoulders and gave her a hard shake as though it would somehow inspire her to speak faster. Mildly irritated, his wife gave him a shove in the centre of his chest to push him back. "Cid, really!" She exclaimed as she sat down beside the table once more. 

Cid shut the door quietly and then excitedly lowered himself onto a stool next to her; her hands grasped between his own. "Well?"

Shera smiled back at him. "She was upset," she begun. "And a little hurt, but I told her what we'd discussed and she was overjoyed."

Cid's grin lessened slightly. "So… she still wants to go then?"

Shera nodded. "It appears as though she's more determined than before. I think our permission means a lot to her, you know. We must mean more to her than I could have ever thought."

Cid gave a quiet, thoughtful nod and stubbed out his final cigarette of the night into a conveniently placed ashtray. Shera gave a quiet cough and looked at him, taking off her glasses nervously and wiping them on the sleeve of her thick sweater. Blinking a few times, she pushed them back on and stared at the worn pilot intently. Eventually noticing her gaze upon him, he looked up.

"What?"

She tilted her head to one side slightly in an oddly curious gesture. "What do you know of this Mr Valentine?" she asked unexpectedly.

His eyes narrowed and blonde brows knitted in thought. "Vince? Yeah, he's a weird one alright, but I can't say much of a bad word against him. Never did anything to make me lose trust in him; never did anything to annoy me… . Other than lurk in shadows all the time and creep up on me. I don't think he did that on purpose though; I guess that's just the way he is."

"Yes, but what is _he_ like? As a person? Deep inside, do you think it's safe to let Tifa go to him?"

Cid paused for a considerably greater length of time. His forehead furrowed even deeper and his eyes seemed to take on a much more intense daze of thought. Eventually he exhaled deeply and looked into the fire opposite him. "I dunno," he replied truthfully, a little to his wife's disappointment. Noticing her reaction, he dredged up the words to vocalise his doubts. "As a person, he's depressed, isolated and just mournful I guess. Right down underneath that cold exterior he puts up I couldn't possibly tell you what it's like; he's never shown any of us. A few words now and then and a twitch of an eyelid are the only indications he ever gave us that there was some kind of emotion under that entire gothic front. Apart from…" Cid's voice trailed off as he gave an involuntary shudder. "Apart from one time that is…

"I can remember being with Cloud and him in sector eight before we fought Hojo. I'd never seen Vincent so much as blanche in the face of danger. But at that time, if he'd just stopped blinking for a minute, I would've thought he'd died.

"He went as white as a sheet; no, _whiter_ like every drop of blood had drained out of his body. But he wasn't scared; he was _mad_. He was absolutely _furious_ like I didn't think it was possible to be. And then when he found out that Sephiroth had never been his child all along and it was actually Hojo's, I realised that I'd never been so terrified around a single person before. Looking back, Sephiroth was awe-inspiring, you know? I didn't get the chance to feel worried for my life because I was too busy trying to keep conscious. Just standing next to Vince though, at that moment in time, it was like… It was like standing next to a bomb and knowing that it was going to kill you but not knowing when.

"And yet, although he'd just found out that everything he'd atoned for, everything he'd suffered because of was a lie he didn't take it out on us. He was just as broody afterwards, sitting in the shadows with that dazed, 'other-worldy' kinda expression on his face. I don't know what he was trying to make amends for then if he'd found out that the danger to the planet was nothing to do with him. He just seems to be one of these people that doesn't have meaning to his life. He has no family, we're his only friends and he hasn't got a job or place he can feel comfortable with. He helped us kill Sephiroth and he helped to save the planet."

Cid leaned back on his chair and turned his head to meet the stare of his wife who had hung upon every word with a rapt interest. Giving him a subtle nod to urge him on, she leant slightly towards him.

He cleared his throat anxiously as though perhaps fearing he would be overheard and scratched the back of his head. "It was like mourning for his sins was the only thing he'd learnt how to do and remembered… if that makes any kind of sense. He didn't have anything to do with himself so he carried on doing the only thing which came naturally to him; that's trying to punish himself. He didn't have anything more to atone for but he didn't have anything else to do with his time either so he continued.

"It was like some kind of ritual or routine which let him know he was still _alive_."

Shera looked down at her hands and rubbed them absently as she pondered. Noticing her unconscious gesture of worry, Cid gently reached out and placed a hand over hers. She forced a reassuring smile and entwined her fingers among his own.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. "You've been bugging me for the past few minutes to let her go, and now you're having regrets?"

"It's not that…" Shera replied uncertainly. "It's just that part of me knows she's a mature woman who can take care of herself in a fight. But… it's the part of me which sees how she's taken this whole trouble with Cloud that worries. I know she spent a year with Mr Valentine but then she had other friends around her too. What if she learns off him exactly the kind of behaviour you described to me? What if she feels that there's no meaning to her life any more and that she can only continue in this spiral of depression?"

Cid shook his head and gave a quiet chuckle. "You worry too much, love," he murmured to her. "You worried when I left Rocket Town all those years ago and I came back a 'hero'! If we let her go, by the same token of luck she might come back a stronger woman.

"I know Teef. You've seen her for the weak and depressed woman that she is inside; I've seen her fighter's spirit and courage. If anything, she'll come back even better than the old Tifa and Vincent might've learnt a thing or two. This will be a good learning experience for her and if we want to start getting her back to normal life then Vincent's the perfect trial.

"If we sent her off to Nanaki, he'd have her reading tomes and scripting out books for the rest of her life! She'd die of boredom by the time she was thirty! And as for Barret, he'd be so determined to get her back to her old self that he wouldn't want to spend the time and patience that this situation needs. With Vincent though she has the time to be herself bit by bit and seeing what a depressed and lonely guy he is might make her want to avoid that. She might see aspects of himself in her actions and realise that she has to stop."

Shera gave a drawn out sigh and eventually nodded. "Yeah," she responded hesitantly. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm always right!"

"I have four words for you, Cid Highwind," Shera contended with a sly tone. "Oxygen. Tank. Number. Eight."

Cid rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he dismissed as he stood up and stretched languidly. "_One_ time then, _one_ time I was wrong." Shera opened her mouth but Cid hastily held up his hand. "_One_ time," he growled again.


	5. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 4

Stay With Me

Chapter 4, by Lucrecia Marionette

As she stood on the deck of the Highwind, Tifa knew that she should have felt the familiar rush of adrenaline which surged through her veins as the wind whipped through her hair. She loved the way it tugged at her clothing and fought with every ounce of its will to push her back over the railings. And every time the vast airship landed she'd smile smugly to herself knowing that she had triumphed over the elements once more. Only now she stood with her back pressed up against huge support pillar, her arms folded sulkily across her chest and her hair bound into a tight plait which sat heavily on her back in an unfamiliar way. Normally it was bound loosely at the base with a leather band so that she could feel the river of chocolate slide across her shoulders whenever she moved. Now it pulled down the back of her head and thrust into her spine like a rough, coarse rope. She fidgeted every few minutes to lay it over her shoulder, but as the wild gale caught it and flung it up at her face, she'd push it back behind with a snarl.

But she didn't bother moving. As much as the speedy wind aggravated her and stung her face to the point of tears, she didn't want to move. She'd resolved herself to standing sentient for the entire twelve-hour journey and had not moved yet. With only another hour to go, it would be weak to shrug off her troubles and slink into the warm, sheltered cockpit.

__

Damnit she swore mentally as the vast plait of hair snapped up and whipped her across the face again. Before it had been irritating, now it was painful and she tugged it back so hard that it ripped at her scalp and made her cry out in agony.

Pursing her lips until they were whiter than her skin, she strode angrily to the edge of the deck and tore the band from the base of the organic rope and allowed the tears of pain to fly from her face at the push of the wind. For a moment it stung, but eventually her nerves were numbed and now she only felt the almost playful force of the air as it nudged her and begged her in its wordless way to play as she had done so many years before.

"There!" she cried as she felt the eddies finger their way through the plait and pull the brown strands in the haphazard directions it loved so much. "Happy now??"

She screamed out the words; her eyes were still closed, but the tears still persisted in streaming down faded-tan cheeks. The wind gave no answer; not even in its cryptic way no matter how hard she trained her ears and soul to it. So she stood back eventually, alone and unsatiated with two red streaks burning down the ivory skin of her face. Her eyes felt puffy and obvious, her head pounded.

The colour slowly returned to her lips and after many minutes of standing still, the raw-crimson of tears faded from beneath her eyes. Her lashes were still wet however and every now and then her vision blurred as she blinked with an almost painful slowness over the seascape splayed before her. A barely audible creak behind her jolted Tifa sharply from her bizarre meditations. She turned hastily to face the source of the disturbance and her gaze met with the steely-blue eyes of Cid. The pilot shuffled a little under her attention and quickly averted his vision to find sudden interest in the wooden deck.

"Sorry, Tifa," he mumbled somewhat sheepishly. "Didn't mean to disturb you. I'll be out of your way in a minute."

Cid carried a rather large metal toolbox before him, both hands gripping the handle tightly beneath his leather flying gloves. He shuffled awkwardly to one side, the box banging against his knees, bumping loudly with a series of loud clangs and thuds whenever the two made contact. He cringed every time it hit him, both through pain and the indelicate clattering it made with every collision. 

"Sorry," he mumbled again, wincing deeply as he placed it heavily on the floor beside the doorway he had entered through.

Tifa watched him with unrestrained curiosity as he swivelled to face the sheer, steel-plated wall and knelt down on the deck. Rolling up the sleeves of his bomber jacket over the elbow length leather gloves he wore, he opened the toolbox and began to search gingerly through it. Carefully lifting out numerous spanners, screwdrivers and other, long, thing objects that Tifa could only dream of, he found happiness in a rather feeble wrench which appeared dwarfed in comparison to the other objects

Sitting back on his heels, he began to bob and weave his head, searching intensely along the wall for something. He gave a grunt of mild satisfaction as he reached up and pressed one of the smaller metal panels. Tifa's eyebrows raised in surprise as the square sheet came off his hands and rested against his bent knees. He leant a little closer to the hole now exposed and peered in with an expression of focused concentration.

"What is it Cid?" Tifa asked suddenly to dispel his conscious state and the pilot glanced over his shoulder.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he answered simply. "Just something I forgot to do before we lifted off."

Tifa paused for a moment before hesitantly walking over to stand by the kneeled figure. It took a little less thought before she bent down beside him and peeped into the rather un-important looking hole. It had fine gauze over it, but it appeared as though half of the tiny pores had been clogged up with some undefined material which could only be described as 'slime'. Tifa made a noise of disgust and Cid flashed her an amused smile.

"Not too nice, huh?" he said with a light chuckle.

"What on earth is it?"

To Tifa's disgust, Cid slid one of the gloves from his hand and ran a finger through the mess. Holding up to his nose, he inhaled deeply and looked skyward in thought. "Oil and dirt," he reported eventually. As he idly wiped the finger on his heavily smudged trousers, he stared at the covering again.

"What's this hole for anyway?" Tifa pressed. "Is it important?"

"Yeah, it's what takes air into the ship. As we fly along, clean air goes in here," Cid explained, demonstrating the draught with his hand. He held it flat and pressed it toward the mesh like a plane. "And the stale air gets pushed out through whatever gaps and holes happen to be around the place. The Highwind isn't airtight, but at the front where aerodynamics mean everything, holes can be a bad thing. At the back though where the bad air leaks out, it doesn't matter at all."

Tifa nodded thoughtfully. "So this is a ventilation shaft?" she questioned and Cid nodded.

"In layman's terms, yeah."

Tifa frowned. "Well.... why was it covered then?"

Cid chuckled as he reached up with his wrench and began to work on the bolts which held the four corners of the gauze in place. "When the 'ship is stationary, there's not much point in having this open. While the airship ain't air proof, it's pretty much vermin-proof and leaving a shaft like this open when we've landed is as good as inviting the little bastards to come and set up home in the cockpit. I was in such a damned hurry to get away this mornin' that I forget to check it."

"And the slimy stuff?"

"The frosts affect the engine above us," Cid pointed upwards to the ceiling of the deck with the wrench before continuing. "The pipes and stuff aren't exactly clean with oil and dirty water everywhere. The frost and snow freeze all that shit up, and when it melts, it all leaks down this pillar here and gets stuck on things like this gauze."

Cid yanked the square piece of metal mesh from its place causing it to flick back in his face, spraying the foul substance over his visage. 

"Shit!!" he swore loudly as he leapt to his feet and flung the object to one side. He promptly wiped himself down with his otherwise clean white scarf and expelled numerous other volatile curses into the once clean material.

"Stupid damned fucking grate should go and fuck off to hell where it can fucking die and burn....BASTARD!!"

But there he stopped. Because somehow, over the sound of his profuse exclamations and the roaring wind in his ears, there was another sound. It was so much more beautiful than anything he had heard for many years and as it rang delicately in his mind like the chiming of silver bells on a crystal morning. His heart swelled with an unfounded joy as he paused to fully appreciate the noise. Slowly lowering the scarf from his face, he peeked over it and blinked in shock.

Tifa was laughing.

But she wasn't _just_ laughing, the frail woman was in hysterics. She was doubled over in her already kneeling position, her forehead almost brushing against the wooden planks of the decking. Her tear streaked eyes were screwed up in mirth and she was desperately gasping for air as she let out another howl of laughter which resounded off the surfaces around her.

At the sight, Cid couldn't help but allow a smile tug at his own face and it quickly broadened into a grin. As Tifa managed to regain some of her composure and glance up at him from her ridiculous position, another giggle escaped her throat until she rolled onto her side, clutching her stomach in hilarity. Watching his companion dissolve in a manner so uncharacteristic of her demeanour over the past months was far too much and Cid soon sank down beside her, covering his face with his hands and laughing into them. Unfortunately, this only served to smear more of the hideous, foul smelling gunge all over his features and every time the two made eye contact it only served to worsen matters

As the couple gained their breaths for the final time, Cid rolled onto his behind and dragged himself into a sitting position with his back pressed up against metal covered column he had been working on before. The door set into it was closed to the world outside, shielding them from the almost painfully tempting warmth it had to offer. For the time being, they were comfortable out there.

The pilot reached into the pocket on the breast of his navy-blue bomber jacket and pulled out a small box. He looked over at Tifa who had shuffled beside him and now had her chin resting on her knees wearily. He held the box towards her.

"Cigarette?" he asked with a wry grin.

She blinked at the object in his hand before giving him an odd look. "No thank you," she answered politely and he chuckled quietly to himself.

"Just bein' courteous an' all," he excused as he flipped the lid off it and drew out a cylindrical object. Putting it between his lips, he pulled out a lighter and with a click, the cigarette was lit. "It was my last one anyway," he told her for no apparent reason as he inhaled and exhaled the smoke deeply, a stream of tarry vapour pouring from his lips and swept away by the wind. He rested the back of his head lazily on the metallic pillar.

"So what are you doing up here all on your own?" he asked her eventually once a few minutes of blissful silence had elapsed.

At first, Tifa made no move to answer and Cid found himself presuming that she hadn't even heard him. As her lips pursed very slightly and a frown found its way onto her features however, he was given the impression of intense consideration. He fell silent and watched her, taking occasional, casual drags from his cigarette as he did so.

"The wind feels… alive," she shrugged cryptically and he perked an eyebrow.

"Wha'?"

She looked at him and already he wondered if he could see that familiar, adventurous sparkle in the burgundy depths of her eyes. There was a slight smile on her lips as she met his gaze with an almost playfully challenging nod of her head. "_Alive_," she repeated emphatically as if those syllables themselves contained the key to her cure. She looked to one side over the railing which ran around the edge of the deck and towards the vast plain of blue sea which stretched eternally either side of the suddenly insignificant airship.

"Stuck in that room it was so easy to think that I was the only person in the universe. Out here though, I have no choice but to accept what comes to me and realise that it happens under the influence of something else. Maybe that's just another person like me, or maybe it's a higher power. I don't know, but it just tells me that there's something more than me out there which feels so humbling and yet so wonderful at the same time."

She sighed deeply out of her nose and a smile played upon her lips.

Cid shook his head with a silent laugh as he flicked the butt of his cigarette nonchalantly into the sea. "You've had _way_ too much time to think about these things," he said not unkindly. "Something tells me that you an' Vince are going to get on just fine."

She shoved him playfully in a manner which seemed almost depressing. Her pale hand, the skin drawn over the fragile bones beneath pressed ever so lightly against his jacket. Despite himself, Cid pulled a face in some horrible notion that she would break with the feeble gesture like an injured bird. However, she didn't seem to notice and turned back to look at the ocean thoughtfully. Again silence weighed cosily upon the pair.

This time however, it was Tifa who broke the wordless vow as a number of thoughts found themselves unexpectedly leaping around in her mind since the arrival of her friend. Her brain had been so empty over the past few months that it was startling for her to recall just how cluttered the human head could be at times. And yet, as uncoordinated and unorganised as it was, she felt an odd sense of tranquillity follow with it. 

Regrettably, the entertainment value faded quickly to leave her with the hollow shells of what had once symbolised something so momentarily great. She remembered how much she hated thinking when there was a lot to think about.

"Cid?"

"Mm?" the pilot answered in a grunt as he twisted back onto his knees and began work once more on the coverless hole he'd revealed only half an hour earlier. He clamped the wrench between his teeth and frowned as only a mechanic could, staring into the seemingly bottomless shaft.

"You know…" she began, but her voice trailed off. He cast her a glance but said nothing so she cleared her throat and started once more, pushing her back up against the wall in an effort to find some physical comfort. "You know… you said all that stuff to Shera about Vincent?"

"Yeah?"

"Well… did you mean it?" she blurted out. "I mean, were you just saying it because you didn't want me to leave, or do you honestly think that Vincent's _that_ messed up? Do you truly believe that we _nothing_ about him?"

Cid sat back on his heels and slipped the tool from his mouth, holding it between his hands as he rested them on his thighs. His brow furrowed as he stared at her intently. "What does it matter?" he asked and she gave him an un-amused glare.

"Don't answer a question with a question," she reprimanded seriously. "You're trying to avoid the subject. I don't want you to justify yourself or give me a speech, I just want the simplest answer you can give."

"You'll find in your life Teef," Cid sighed deeply as he scratched the back of his head. "That the most difficult problems have the most obvious answers. Most people can't see the wood for the trees, y'know? I never used to really understand that saying, but now I know for certain that it's right.

"I know I said that we don't know much about Vincent, but that's not entirely true. I bet that if we just sat around and thought about it for a few minutes, we'd suddenly have the answer to solving that guy. Unfortunately, no one's prepared to do that. And do you know why? In all honesty, I think we'd all be scared. Not of him, not at all," Cid shook his head firmly to emphasise his point. "Vincent's a good guy. Life just took a bad deal with him; he played the game and lost spectacularly. That's not his fault, he just likes to _think_ that it is. The reason why none of us want to sit down and really try to figure what makes that guy tick is because we all know that we'd find a part of ourselves in him. We all feel sorry for what he's been through and some part of us feels plain glad that we don't have to sulk around all day like he does. But, if we looked at our own lives then we'd see that _we_ were just as pitiable. The only difference is that he's had it on a grander scale. 

"It'll turn out that we're all just as depressing as he is. And I'd hate to have that hanging over me. It's all very well thinking that I have a great life and great future, but deep inside, we're all the same. People just don't want to know that. If they see there's a problem then they'll feel like they have to sort it out. If they ignore it though, then there's always the hope it'll piss off and leave them alone. Vincent just doesn't have that choice," the pilot ended as he produced a new sheet of gauze from his copious toolbox and proceeded to clip it down to size using a pair of pliers.

Tifa looked down at her hands with a glazed expression as her brain mulled over the uncharacteristically philosophical speech given to her by the stereo-typically jovial member of AVALANCHE. She looked up at him after a minute.

"And why do you feel like that?" she questioned him. "Why is it that you're not afraid to admit what no one else dares to?"

A slow grin found it's way onto Cid's face. "You know me Teef. I don't give much of a shit what happens in life so long as I can just get on with whatever I'm doing. Meteor and Sephiroth really fucked up my flight-plans so I had to run away with all of you to kick some ass. Philosophy?" He snorted. "Not a pastime of mine, but the way I see it is that if you truly want to live life then you have to try and understand it and understand yourself. I haven't got too much to be depressed about which is why I'm not scared to say; 'Hey! Look at me! Big smiles and grins all 'round, but inside I can hurt like the next guy. Everyone else can too so what the hell's the point in covering that up?'."

Tifa gave a quiet laugh and nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

He stopped and waved the now perfectly cut, clean piece of gauze towards her. "And you're just starting to do that now, but you've chosen a pretty fucked up time to do it. With that bastard running off and leaving you to deal with life on your own just when you were ready to start looking back and reflecting on things, you couldn't stop it. Now it's caught up with you and without me an' Shera you haven't got someone to help you get through that."

Tifa bit her bottom lip as her vision misted and she looked to one side coyly.

Cid put a hand over her shoulder and drew her near to him, rubbing her arm comfortingly. "Hey, c'mon. Don't cry on me now. I just want you to see what I'm so stressed out about, okay? I just need you to understand that I feel you're better off with people who have already thrown their worries to the wind and can help you do the same. With Vincent, I'm just worried that you'll both end up sleeping in coffins and sitting in shadowy corners whenever someone tries to talk to ya!"

Tifa failed to suppress a giggle and she rubbed her eyes. "Thanks Cid," she breathed emotionally and he gave her a last squeeze before turning back to his work.

"No problem, kid," he told her. "But at the end of the day, I know that you can be stronger than that. Vincent's a strange one, but you're as stubborn as Palmer is about diets when you have to be! You go and show that vamp who's boss, huh?"

Tifa grinned and nodded quite pensively as she pushed off the floor into a standing position. Stretching precariously on unsteady legs, she wandered over to the railings at the very head of the airship. Bending and resting her crossed arms on the thin white bar, she surveyed the landscape which had appeared during the time of their conversation and blinked slowly in weary thought. The large airship had lifted off at six o'clock that morning after she'd had only eight hours of restless sleep and it was resting heavily on her already weak muscles. She yawned widely and slumped a little, weighing heavily on the white metal rail. Her hands fingers the bars idly and her eyelids drooped a little as she scanned the horizon for any sign of their destination. Minutes turned to half an hour as Cid finally stood and brushed down his knees.

"My work here is done," he announced in a voice reminiscent of movies about superheroes with a lopsided smirk. "I'm gonna go inside now. You comin'?"

Tifa shook her head but didn't turn. "No, we're almost there aren't we? I mean what's the point if-"

She stopped suddenly. 

In the distance, on the very edge of her clear vision there was a smattering of white against the frosty-green of the fields below. Brown fences criss-crossed the muted greenery, sectioning off nature in man's typically artificial way. At first the stripes of dead wood were abstract and far between, but as the Highwind raced across the plains there was a noticeably more patterned method to the lines. They became more parallel and closer together the nearer the vast airship came to the peculiar cropping of white and as they came ever closer to it, shapes came out of the formless mass. 

It was Nibelheim.

"What's wrong, Teef?"

"Th-that's Nibelheim, isn't it?" she asked falteringly as she extended a feeble hand in a vague gesture.

Cid frowned a little as he looked to the distance. His eyes falling upon the now clearer collection houses he gave a single nod. "Yeah, there aren't any other towns or villages for miles around. It has to be."

Tifa gave an involuntary shudder as she swallowed hard. "Thought so," she said hoarsely.

He looked at her. "You've gone pale," he proclaimed softly. "Are you sure you're okay with this? At least come inside and get some rest. It's been a long journey."

She shook her head firmly. "No. I'm staying right here. I'm not going to help myself by running away."

"Standing up and fighting isn't always the way, y'know. If there's one thing I've learnt with being a pilot is that there's a time for everything. Pushing yourself isn't always the best thing to do when you can come back and tackle something another day. I've had a few friends die in the past because they thought they could go that one step further."

Tifa pulled a face. "You're getting too old Cid," was all she replied and he burst out laughing. 

"Damn," he exclaimed. "Time to pull out the pipe and slippers!"

"I'm sure that Shera already has them warming by the fire for you."

He chuckled. "Just remember what I said. You're too headfast for your own good sometimes. I'd better go inside; them damned rookies still need me to do the simplest things…"

"Okay then."

He left the deck, closing the door behind him with a bang which was swallowed by the steadily decreasing air currents. Her gaze still fixed on the village quickly approaching them, she didn't even seem to notice when the vast airship came to a halt only five-hundred metres away from one of the houses. She held her attention on one thing and one thing only.

The water tower.

__

The place where Cloud and I once sat… she murmured mentally. _When he became my hero. He said that he'd always come back for me whenever I needed help but now…_

"I need help now Cloud. Now more than ever… but you're not here. Where are you…? Why did you have to go…?"

Tears misted her vision but she didn't even bother to flick them back and allowed them to spill over and run down her pallid cheeks unhindered. They dripped off the edge of her chin and landed on the silvery-grass many metres below where she stood. She followed their path for a few seconds as they seemed to descend through the air almost ethereally with a graceful stillness before fading from her view completely.

A door opened behind her once more and this time she moved.

"Hello, Tifa," greeted Shera warmly. "Good Gracious, it's freezing out here! Shall I get you a coat?"

It was indeed very cold and it was only then that Tifa actually realised so. She wore a pastel-pink T-shirt beneath a tan leather jacket, but over her legs donned a pair of figure hugging blue jeans which felt suddenly transparent to the elements. She gave a visible shiver and pulled the collar of her jacket up. "I'll be alright," she replied through gritted teeth. "Winters used to be worse than this when I was a kid. I'm sure I'll get used to it in no time."

Shera nodded with a degree of uncertainty but eventually threw her worries away as the younger woman flashed her a weak, yet comforting smile.

"It's a lovely place," the technician praised to change the subject as she walked over to the railings and stood beside Tifa. "It must have been wonderful growing up here."

"Oh it was," the proprietress answered and she smiled genuinely as her breath made beautiful, silver clouds in the air when she spoke. "My friends and I used to go out and play in the fields around here. Sometimes we'd even go up to the mansion, but I was too terrified to actually go in. Cloud once-"

She stopped abruptly and sighed.

"Carry on," Shera urged supportively as she placed a hand on her arm.

"Cloud was the only one who dared to go in. He didn't have many friends, but he overheard us talking about wanting to play hide-and-seek in there once. But none of us had the courage. That night, he went and had a look around and told us all about it the next day. None of the boys believed him, but I always did. 

We were talking about that a few years ago when we were setting up the bar," she continued with a wistful smile. "He said that he only did it to impress me, but he was heartbroken when I didn't seem to care."

"But you did?"

Tifa nodded. "Yeah, I thought he was really brave for going ahead and doing something like that when not even adults went in the gardens. I think that's when I really started to notice him. Before he'd just been some guy that hung around on his own, getting in fights with some of my friends whenever they teased him. I knew it was wrong, but I never bothered stopping them. After he did that though, I used to say 'hi' whenever we walked past one-another or happened to be in the same room. There was only once we properly talked, and that was the night before he left to join SOLDIER." She pointed to the water tower. "We sat out under the stars on the well that night. It was really beautiful."

Then she fell silent and looked down with an almost embarrassed stance at her feet. Shera beamed brightly at her. "That's beautiful," she said. "I'm glad that you haven't forgotten things like that. Maybe it truly was a good idea to bring you back here."

"But…." Tifa whispered beneath her breath. "This is the place where I lost my parents… . This is where Sephiroth killed hundreds of people and went mad. Cloud rescued me that day and I never even realised; he risked his life for mine. And now… now he's left me for something so much greater. I-I always used to think… I thought that love was the most powerful thing in the universe. But how can it be if it's so fickle…?"

She gave a sob, but put her hand over her mouth as Shera embraced her tightly. "Easy now…" she pacified softly. "Don't hold it in. You've come here to get better; don't be afraid to say what you think."

She felt Tifa nod as she buried her head in the technician's shoulder. "Thanks Shera," she whispered gratefully. "I don't think I ever could've got this far without you."

The older woman said nothing in reply and merely held the weeping girl with a quiet concern as she ran her hand lightly down the dull hair of her companion. "Come on," she murmured softly. "Let's get our things together. The sooner we get off this airship, the better you'll feel."

Tifa nodded again as she wiped her eyes on the back of her jacket. She gave a slight laugh. "I'm going to have to sort myself out," she said with a mixture of joviality and sadness. "I'm sure Vincent won't appreciate me flooding the place out with tears."

Shera gave a snort of laughter and smiled. "If he stops you doing what you want to, then you just get me around. He's meant to help you, not make you suppress your emotions."

"Even still," Tifa shuddered suddenly as she looked over the rooftops towards the old Shinra Mansion which seemed to dwell in a permanent shadow, watched over by the oppressive Mount Nibel behind it. "He's not expecting me is he? I don't want to make him regret my presence."

"I'm sure he won't," Shera beamed. "You'll add a bit of life to that place in no time."

The proprietress shrugged. "I'd imagine that 'life' is the last thing he'd want. It seems to be what he's tried to escape from."

Shera cast a worried look in the direction of the suddenly melancholy woman by her side. Clearing her throat to shatter the depressed atmosphere, she made a motion to enter the Highwind and the two women left the deck in favour of the warmth inside.


	6. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 5

"Put it over there __

So, so sorry for the vast length of time it's taken me to get this chapter up. Its been sat on my computer and in my site for ages now (along with the following) but I've been incredibly busy. I sincerely hope it's not too much of a let down or anti climax considering the wait

~Lucrecia Marionette

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**__**

Chapter 5

~ by Lucrecia Marionette

"Put it over there. No! Not there! _There_!" 

Cid gestured his arms wildly at the pitiably confused engineer who waddled around uncertainly clutching a large suitcase before him. Putting it down for a second's rest, Cid yelled at him again and he yanked it off the ground so sharply that he felt the muscles in his back cry out in pain. Cringing visibly and holding his breath, he ran quickly through the town gates and deposited the huge bag.

"Damned flunkies," Cid muttered angrily as he lowered himself down the rope ladder. "Can't get decent help now-a-days," he added gruffly as a booted feet touched down on the muted green grass below. It crunched beneath his weight like glass shards and crumpled pathetically under his sole. His hand felt instinctively up to his breast pocket, but his irritation was magnified countless times as he recalled that his last cigarette was probably floating, half smoked in the Midway Ocean, the vast body of water which spanned between the two continents. At that moment, he seriously considered going to find it. The rich, smothering smoke would be so much more pleasurable then the icy air which attacked his lungs even then.

He frowned a little and gave a slight cough as he sauntered over to the gate. Looking into the town beyond, he found himself as unable as ever to view the hellish aura which surrounded the place. It seemed only noticeable by those who had lived here or experienced the nightmares firsthand. To him, it was a quaint, almost backwards settlement which barely qualified as a town. It was more like a village, and a small one at that. Only because it was the largest grouping of dwellings in the area was it regarded as having a higher status.

He sniffed almost disdainfully in the direction of the water-tower, standing defyingly erect despite the numerous planks of wood and rusting pipes which hung feebly from it. He realised with a degree of egoism, that given a day he could construct something infinitely better and more efficient than the ancient structure.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a soft crunch behind him. Turning, he observed as Shera held a hand out to Tifa who declined it politely and lowered herself agonisingly down the final few rungs of the wobbly ladder. She stumbled a little as her feet touched ground, but soon brushed down her tan jacket with a degree of achievement. Cid said nothing as he walked over to them.

"Well, here we are," Shera said obviously with a warm smile. "It's rather quiet, isn't it?" She rubbed her hands together briskly to instil some feeling into the cold-bitten appendages.

"Pretty freaky if you ask me," Cid responded with raised eyebrows. "It's like a ghost town."

"We've been here loads of times before," Tifa contended. "I guess that the Highwind isn't such a novelty any more."

Cid shrugged as he glanced back over his shoulder. "Still weird," he mumbled. 

A long period of silence elapsed as the trio observed Nibelheim from the lower vantagepoint. So much further down than the deck of the Highwind many metres above them, it was a little easier to feel the oppressive blanket which had settled for several decades now over the town. 

Despite this, Tifa was the first one to move as she walked tentatively towards the rusty gates which had been there long before she was a child. No one was entirely certain as to their purpose, except that the town square had once been a bustling chocobo market and the elegant metal barrier had prevented them from escaping into the grasslands beyond. There was no thriving economy here now though. The only services were the inn and tavern with menial grocery-store next door. Even from when she was young, she'd known that they only just scraped-by a living; not enough visitors went through the town on the mountain pass to make comfortable life-styles for the residents. As a guide in the hazardous area, she'd found an innovative way to find herself a means to survive. However, who could have known that her way of life would prove to bind her up in her own downfall?

For once, since reminiscing so grimly about her past, Tifa didn't weep. Instead, her brow furrowed a little, but her lips pursed and she merely turned away from the dull sight of the houses.

"You can go now if you like," she said quietly and the couple looked at her as though she had just shot them. 

"Go??" Cid exclaimed. "Do you think we're just gonna drop you off in the hope that Vincent's going to be here? What if he's not home? What happens if he's moved on and you're left completely abandoned?"

Tifa pulled a face. "I suppose," she answered a little plaintively. "But you really don't have to stay. It was enough for you to bring me here in the first place."

Cid shook his head firmly. "No way. We won't step on your toes, but we'll stay in the inn if you want to go right ahead and take a look around that damned mansion."

Tifa nodded with a wan smile after a brief moment of thought. "Thanks."

"That way, if you need us then we're only a short walk away. If you want us out of your business then you don't even have to look in our direction," Shera ended.

Tifa flashed the older woman a smile of gratitude and walked all the way up to the town entrance, pausing outside of the cobbled square which made up the centre. Her face collapsed into a ponderous frown as her eyes drifted up the lines of stone set in cement to the partially obscured, gothic building at the head of the smattering of houses. The shadow shrouded mansion stared hauntingly back at her with its dark windows like eye-sockets boring into her soul. Her stature didn't shift and she stared straight back, daring it to so much as threaten her with the empty memories which would destroy the already frail form. It didn't take the slightest heed however, and it wasn't long before her mind was flooded with the intense flames of a hellish blaze; the screams and sweet smell of burning flesh filling her nostrils with a remembered scent. 

All at once her vision was swamped with the vivid orange glow of an intense fire and she took a startled step backwards with the unexpected shock of the explosion. The windows and doors of the dull, grey stone dwellings erupted outwards as flames grew out of the square holes and licked up the masonry to consume the thatched roofs with their ever hungry appetite. A man stumbled from the general store opposite her, meeting her haunted stare with his sightless eyes, burned out by the intense heat. He gave a hideous gurgle and fell to the floor clutching his chest. Steam flowed up ethereally white from the water-tower but it was mingled with the dirty black smoke of the burning houses and lost forever in its purity. Just like her. Whilst she had once been the innocent young teenager, embraced by a loving father and kind friends, with the destruction of all she had known her soul had been tainted forever with the sights of Hades.

She wanted to vomit.

So involved was she in the horrific vision, that as a hand fell upon her shoulder, she whirled around with a shocked gasp, not quick enough to erase the terrified expression on her thin features. Cid was completely taken aback by the pure fear which was written all over the woman's face and stumbled back a little in surprise.

"Shit Tifa," he breathed, attempting to regain his composure. "What's wrong?"

"I-I was… just remembering," she stammered in a subdued fashion as she rubbed her face to tease away the mask of terror. "Better now than never."

Shera stared at her suspiciously but Tifa met her gaze and shook a hand dismissively. "Wouldn't you rather I confronted these fears while you were both still with me?"

Pilot and technician exchanged apprehensive glances but said nothing, their lips drawn into thin lines of non-committal.

Taking their silence as a positive answer, Tifa turned back to the town with a look of firm determination mustered up from the very depths of her heart. She bent down and wrapped her delicate fingers around the handle of the suitcase by her side. Straining under the exercise, she pulled it up before her and shuffled uncomfortably.

"I'm… going now," she announced. "If I stay here for much longer then I'll probably lose the courage."

"… Want me to carry your bag?"

Tifa shook her head but didn't turn back to look at the gruff member of AVALANCHE. "No thanks, Cid. I'll try to stop by and see you both at the Inn later. If anything happens, you know where to find me."

And that was that.

Without so much as a farewell, Tifa started on her brief journey clutching her bag awkwardly before her as she took stilted steps forward. The leather suitcase rubbed against her jean-clad legs, but focusing only on her destination she didn't even seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed ahead and only blinking when it physically stung to keep her eyes open any longer she appeared to be more like a mindless zombie. 

As her shadow fell across the doorway of the Nibelheim Inn and passed across to the next home on the terrace, she heard the sound of a door opening and excited chatter hum softly in the crisp air.

…."Wow! That's the Highwind isn't it…?"

…."I can't remember it being that big!"

…."Wanna take a look?"

…."Maybe we can take a look around!"

A slow smile found its way onto her rose-tinted lips as she could almost see Cid rushing back on-board hurriedly to avoid the mass of people clambering over one-another to watch the vast 'ship in action. Perhaps his curse of the 'ghost-town' had been premature. Now he was facing the consequences of his idle condemnation of the lifeless area. 

More homes opened out to her as she moved past them, spewing their excited citizens onto the streets as they voiced their awe at the unusual site. Children tugged at their parent's restraint; a few of the older ones gathered in groups, their wonder-filled eyes glazed with amazement and the strong desire to break away from the shadowy place. 

_So much like Cloud when he went to join SOLDIER_ she mused softly.

She herself was the source of much attention and she could almost hear the repressed whispering of the occupants. They debated to themselves whether the haunted woman in their midst's truly was the female figure-head of the group who saved the world three years ago. What were their names again…? 

She brushed past them without even affording a solitary glance in their direction and continued to look straight ahead to avoid the attention of any more gossiping families and their neighbours. The method worked beautifully, and within a minute she had broken free of the steadily increasing number of faces in the swelling sea of humans. It was now she found herself on the oddly isolated path up to the deserted mansion before her; the dappled shadows of trees either side obliterating the highly overgrown route. Weeds poked through the cracked flag-stones leaving only traces of the once glorious road up to the jewel of the Nibel mountains.

Now it was deserted, battered and almost emanating an aura of sadness which washed down over the town inhabitants.

For a moment, Tifa pitied it.

"Nothing should be lonely," she whispered gently. "No matter what its done…"

She walked for a few more metres down the shadowed avenue and stopped as her journey was blocked by the ever-elegant structure of the Mansion gates. The finely tempered black metal swirled gracefully, creating loops and twists which seemed almost impossible from the sturdy material. And yet, as she stared intensely at it, she saw chips in the paintwork; poisonous red rust creeping along the flat edges of the crafted structure. Ivy had taken hold of the tall, brick gate-posts and had twirled in its wonderfully organic way along the pre-made paths adding an alive charm to the otherwise cold and impassionate piece of art. She ran her fingers idly over the intricate patterns, but her eyes didn't focus on the subject of her sensual attention, rather the object pathetically screened by it. The Mansion was still looking at her in its watchful way, but whilst it had seemed so menacingly and sinister from the safety of the Highwind, it was now so forsaken and stark. All of a sudden, it wasn't the thing of her nightmares and fears; it needed the touch of a human. It needed the love and warmth that only a person with the right patience could bring it.

Taking a deep breath, Tifa pushed against the gates. To her minor surprise, they opened on silent hinges so far as to allow her entry into the forbidden garden. She stepped lightly through with a quiet reverence of the sacred place, dragging her heavy bag behind her. Her wide burgundy eyes stared around with the look of a child intruding on a hidden place but moved on regardless, stepping over the trailing tendrils of ancient rosebushes and alpine ground-creepers. Each plant was touched by the same icy kiss of the frost which enveloped the town with its silvery cloak. It added an even more heavenly appeal to the wild jungle-like Eden surrounding her; her footsteps were softened gently by the grass underfoot to lessen her presence in the prohibited kingdom. Like fallen angels, antique Grecian statues lay half shattered; disguised beneath nets of organic rope in the knee-high grass. As she glanced down at one of them, the expressionless, icy eyes stared back at her with their ageless impassiveness. The smooth white skin seemed so perfectly unblemished by the black veins so common in such masonry. And yet the many years of weather exposure had worn away the features, softening them to the many months of rain and wind the mountainous area had to offer. Through some unconscious wish. 

Tifa found herself releasing her bag and bending down. Her hand reached out and she gently ran the back of her fingers down the worn visage. It's skin was deceptively sleek; as her finger tips touched upon the white stone she was able to feel the pitted pores and cracked features.

"Deceptive appearances," she breathed as she straightened herself once again and circled her fingers around the bag-handle once again.

Despite her dramatically slowed pace, Tifa eventually found herself before the ominous doors of the Mansion entrance. The plain, panelled wooden doors were so much less impressive and divine than the garden gateway. They seemed so much more realistic and down-to-earth; much more hidden and elusive to any onlookers. The whorled surface showed little of the strong weathering which had eaten away the broken statue and it stood before her, as solid and unmoving as ever. The same doorway which had stopped her from entering as a child. 

The same doorway which she had collapsed before in a sobbing heap four years before as she returned to her hometown for the first time since Sephiroth's insanity. 

She, and all the other members of AVALANCHE knew what had really concealed itself behind the unimpressive doors of the dilapidated building. They knew the terrible secrets that such a normal entrance lead to. If the rest of the Nibelheim inhabitants had any such knowledge, the centre of Shinra's darkest revelations would have been torn down long, long ago.

Gathering the remaining shreds of what little courage resided still in her soul, she pressed a palm up against one of the double doors and pushed heavily against it. The wooden barrier swung open with the same lack of resistance as the gate and gave birth to the ruined hall beyond. Enchanted by the complete deficiency in opposition she had encountered since entering the grounds, she walked into the vast reception. 

The gothic décor of the place only added to the chilling, stagnant air. Pillars set into the crumbling walls arched up over her head to a vaulted point at the pinnacle of the ceiling. And from the inverse star-like pattern formed at the meeting, there was suspended a chandelier so beautiful and delicate it took her breath away. Each guilded branch which spanned out from the centre held a myriad of crystalline droplets which refracted the occasional shafts of lazy light which drifted through the dirt-covered window at the head of the room. Tiny flashes of silvery-light dappled the age-eaten chamber with an angelic glittering. 

Why had she never noticed it? Why had the fragile glass structure been so elusive to her cautious eyes as she stumbled into the house of horrors three years before?

As she took a step further into the ruined room, something crunched underfoot. Her eyes moved grudgingly from the wonderful decoration to the half rotten floorboards. Shards of glass in perfect mimicry to the icy formations outside shattered beneath her foot. She moved back guiltily; the years of degradation had probably worn away much of the already frail adornment causing teardrops of glass to fall like rain to the wooden floor below. Rubble from the roof littered the ground creating grim obstacles for her to avoid as she made her way through the minefield of precarious boards and decomposing wood. Any wrong way and she might have found herself plummeting to the basement below.

Wallpaper hung in curling, tattered strips down the walls leaving grim, grey exposed plaster from beneath. The paper was not much better however; the design had long since faded leaving only a trace of the pattern it had once boasted so proud and richly. Now the once colourful and perhaps gaudy reception hall was filled with shades of drab browns and lifeless greys. 

She shuffled her feet uncomfortably. A feeling of apprehension filled her senses and the oppression of a place once so beautiful sat upon her. 

Resolving to move quickly, she dragged her suitcase over to the sweeping, crumbling staircase and walked slowly up; one step at a time. The dusty red carpet was more like a dirty brown. The only hints of colour came when the grime was blown away with her slightest movements. She gritted her teeth in determination not to pay too much attention to the severely depressed surroundings and was soon at the open landing which ran along the length of the hallway. Directly before her ran the impossibly vast window, sectioned off into gothic arches of dust. She imagined that when the building had been new and wonderful, light would have shone down through the divine glass and sprayed a rainbow across the opposite wall. Utterly smothered in choking filth, the only thing it revealed about itself were the infrequent beams which hit the chandelier and faded just as quickly. Perhaps the naturally gloomy Nibelheim skies were not ideal for such a decoration. 

Looking both left and right, she pulled a face. Both routes were as dark and foreboding as each other; neither appealing or repellent in their own shadowy way. It was strange, she realised. Having come here before her nerves had been shot to pieces; her mind had been on the brink of emotional collapse. Too many poisonous memories had drained away her confidence leaving her only able to cling helplessly to Him. To _Cloud_.

But without her hero she was left stranded and defenceless. And yet, despite this she felt no danger and no panic. She was here, in a house; in a building like any other. If anything, it feared _her_; was it so unused to human touch that it was scared of her presence?

Her hand reached out and ran along the grimy window absently as she began to walk to her left. Her fingers left trails in the dust; rainbows falling onto the decaying floorboards on the ground level and piercing the crystal drips on the arms of the candelabrum. She paid no attention to them however and kept her eyes on the corridor up ahead. 

Without windows or light of any kind to guide her, she stumbled warily over the faint outlines of rubble she could see through the darkness. Her heavy bag caught once or twice on unseen objects and as she tugged at it, the grating sound which ensued would vibrate through the tenuous walls around her. Blind and numbed by the chilling coldness which seeped into the mansion from outside, she walked straight into an obstruction at the very end of the tunnel-like passage. With a loud grunt, she frowned deeply with an accusing glare at the innocent doorway which stood fast despite her collision. She rubbed her forehead with a cringe and looked to the new area. 

She stood in a small hallway at one end of the landing which gave way to several new doors. From her vague knowledge she recalled that had she gone the other way she would've gained entrance to the hellish laboratory below. She gave a shiver at the thought and felt infinitely glad to be as far away from the dreaded area as possible. 

Continuing to glance over the inconspicuous exits before her, she noted that only one of them had light beneath the door. The others appeared to spew shadows from their depths into the corridor, polluting what should've been daylight into the inky-blackness of the premature night. With that perhaps over-dramatic realisation, she turned to the more inviting route and pushed open the entrance to reveal a new room within. 

Sunlight drifted wonderfully through open windows; delicate lace curtains wafting in a seemingly non-existent breeze; probably caused by her entry. The décor was just as grim as elsewhere in the mansion, but that glorious golden hue from the warmth of day brightened it infinitely. Before her there stood an ancient looking bed; four poster with the remnants of an elegant drape over the top. Now it hung feebly in ragged strips which curled around the jagged posts in the same blue-grey hue of the sheets which lay over the mattress itself.

For the first time since she had left behind her friends, a smile touched her lips. In its old-fashioned and oddly decayed appearance, the room was wonderful. "This will do nicely," she whispered lightly as though to confirm her satisfaction to herself and the empty house around.

She dragged her suitcase in and with a deep sigh finally propped it up against one of the walls. Although a chest of drawers was pressed up against one of the windows, she didn't unpack; it was far too premature for that. The house was in ruins she reminded herself. The aura of loneliness and the complete lack of life suggested overwhelmingly that she truly was alone. It wouldn't do any harm to stay there for a while, but making herself at home was truly absurd.

Brushing back the thoughts of defeat, Tifa sat down on the bed. She fell back in surprise as the springs gave into her weight and she fell onto the sheet with a puff of dust. Although she coughed violently, she didn't move. The soft material had seemingly absorbed her into its depths and it felt wonderfully soothing against her skin.

After the clouds of dirt had settled, she gave a deep sigh. The weight off her back since standing permanently on the deck of the Highwind for many hours and little sleep the night before suddenly rushed over her. It was so beautifully pleasant to feel so stateless and yet alive all at once. She was no longer in Kalm; she had travelled halfway across the world to prove to herself that she _could_. And now the weariness she felt was one of health; one of movement and activity rather than the lethargic ache which had settled on her muscles for the past six months. It felt so good to be alive; more wonderful then than it had done for many years. 

With that comfortable thought, Tifa's eyes closed lazily before she was even aware of what was happening and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	7. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 6

Chapter 6 **__**

Chapter 6

~by Lucrecia Marionette

Tifa's eyes opened laboriously as she fought back the fatigue which consumed her mind and muscles. Letting a groan of frustration pass through her lips, she raised her arms above her head and kicked out her legs in a languid stretch. Despite the fact her senses had been numbed by unconsciousness, above the sleep-instilled deafness which weighed upon her ears she heard the sickly satisfying pops of her joints as she extended her limbs. Inhaling deeply, she slowly relaxed and trained her eyes to the ceiling.

The darkness in the room which she had previously mistaken for her blurry eyes hung in the corners like a gravity defying liquid. It flowed down the decaying walls and seeped viscously onto the ragged carpet which covered the floor. To her left and right over the twin windows which bordered her bed, the lacy curtains drifted lethargically on some faint breeze which probably wafted through the poorly fitted windows. The ceiling paper above the bed swayed leisurely like daises in a summer wind; the twirling strips of material which were the only remains of the once elegant canopy moved almost hypnotically. 

The inky shadow of twilight flowed like a smothering and comfortable blanket into the small room, filling it the delicious scents of the night. She inhaled deeply, the crisp and frosty air biting her lungs and serving to awaken her even further from her half-conscious state. 

She tilted her head slightly upwards to face one of the windows. The twinkling illuminations of the numerous candles in Nibelheim flicked back at her like fairy lights on a Christmas tree. Her otherwise unblemished face crumpled a little.

"I didn't have a Christmas tree this year…" she told the room in a soft murmur. "I'd put one up for the two other Christmases… but I refused to leave my room this time. I think that Cid and Shera might've bought one. But I never saw it."

A sigh caused her chest to rise and fall in sorrow as her long lashes fluttered over burgundy eyes. It was only then that the iciness of the derelict chamber touched her. It ran its impassionate fingers up and down her skin; goose pimples flushed through her body. Sitting up a little sheepishly, she lifted up the sheets that she had lain upon and drew then up around her shoulders. The ensuing cloud of dust blew away from her, urged on by the delicate draught from the windows. Her eyes still fixed upon the cracked glass pane, she stood precariously, sliding off the absorbing bed onto her feet. Having slept fully clothed, she wasn't so aware of the frost-chill and the thin sheet served to provide her with a little extra warmth. 

Taking a few steps forward, she stood before the nearest window and looked out. Nibelheim looked so cosy as it was; nestled amongst the rolling emerald foothills of Mt Nibel. Its lights twinkled merrily back at her; the well was framed in the light of an open door and the surface of the water it contain glittered back at her almost invitingly. Coupled with the light of the moon it seemed like molten bronze, gleaming back the light of the stars in a mirror-like mimicry. Her gaze drifted slowly upwards until it settled upon the source of the reflections upon the well-water. Stars glimmered like pinpricks of light in the black velvety canvas of night; they framed the pearly moon which hung central and divine like a secret goddess. It was full that night; a perfect circle of quicksilver suspended ethereally against the cold reaches of space beyond.

From such heavenly musings, her eyes returned to more earthly pleasures. Nibelheim looked so wonderfully appealing in such a memorable way. She had dreaded coming back here. From the very second she had made her decision she knew that it would be hard. And yet still she had come. Was it really the result of methodical and coldly logical thought? Or had something deeper down drawn her back to the place of her childhood?

The warm winter nights she had spent curled before an open fire with her father, a book resting open on her lap as she idly glanced down at the words and transported herself to worlds of fantasy; damsels in distress and their handsome princes to save them. The warm summer evenings spent playing tag with her friends as she ran giggling through the waist deep, golden corn meadows which ran like a halo around the village. 

It was winter now though. In the place of the luscious crops there was thin, hard grass. If only it had snowed then perhaps the open fields would not seem so bleak and barren.

Tifa was dimly reminded of the view from her bedroom window in Kalm and the many layers of pure white snow which had passed her vision over the months she had resigned herself to that window seat. But then she had paid no attention to the wondrous event; her thoughts had been so much more pressing than anything nature had to offer. Pressing her palm against the frosty glass she was overwhelmed by the sense of déjà vu which planted images of her desire to reach out from her hollow shell to the outer world when secluded and alone she could only watch it pass her by.

Her fists clenched slightly as she inhaled sharply through her teeth. "Stop it, Tifa," she admonished herself sternly in a low tone. "You've come here to get away from that, not remember it. You're stronger than that; it's the present that matters, not the past. You're here now and you knew that was going to be the hardest step. Even if you go back to Kalm now without doing what you wanted to, you know that you have the strength to break out of that house and try to help yourself."

Giving a single, firm nod she spun away from the window to face into the room. 

It was then she realised for the first time that she was not alone.

At first it crept upon her like a slow moving fog, starting from her feet and travelling up her body; freezing her feet to the ground in terror and holding her muscles rigid. Now completely paralysed she could do nothing more than stare around the room with alarmingly wide eyes falling upon every surface and finding none of the previous tranquillity she had experienced only a second ago. The shadows told her nothing though and insisted on hugging the walls as religiously as ever, their demonic breaths held in anticipation as the naïve maiden stood fast in fear before them. Their black cloaks had previously held such safety and secrecy over her and now made her blind and isolated. 

For the longest time, the only sound audible to her was the pounding of her own heart as it thumped in her chest and yet seemed to drain all the blood from her face. Her muscles gradually relaxed, but only in fatigue as her body was suddenly sapped of every shred of energy within it. She licked her lips.

"Wh… Who's… there?" she whispered hoarsely but to no avail.

Her eyes pathetically sought a way to pierce the blockade of darkness but it only served to give her a greater sense of futility and sightlessness. This was not the house of peace and rest she had mistaken it for. It felt as though the monsters in the very depths of the basement laboratory had broken free of their daylight restraints and had taken the opportunity to gorge themselves upon the night. At that particular moment it felt as though they were running their despicable sight over every inch of her body.

Tifa wondered if she had ever been so terrified.

But then, just as she somehow forced her left foot to scrape back along the musty floorboards, something began to move. The shadow's themselves seemed to congeal into a single, tall mass at the doorway to the room. It was so much darker than anything around it and appeared to be oblivion itself; as her eyes focused upon it they seemed to stare straight into the blackest depths of the universe. An involuntary shudder wracked through her frame and she tore her eyes away with a gasp, screwing them shut and jerking her face to one side.

Silence elapsed once more; her heartbeat had quietened to natural levels but the adrenaline still coursed through her veins with every push setting her nerves on fire. She swallowed hard and cautiously tilted her face back up to the doorway. The mass of shadow was still there.

But as she dared to scrutinise it with greater courage, from the blackness formed obscure details. The tall, almost column-like object appeared vaguely human, darkness hanging like a shroud from the figure's shoulders, pouring down from the top of its head in long, raven ripples which gleamed in the faint moonlight. And from beneath the satin hair was a visage so pale and so ageless that it appeared as though the white marble statuette she had examined outside had come to visit her. But no; in the place of those countourless white orbs for eyes were two crimson irises which glowed faintly like smouldering coals on a barely extinguished flame. They bored straight through the hard shell she had put up around herself for three years now and glared directly at her soul in a stare so potent that she stumbled back in horror.

Finally sensing her fright or coming to some secret conclusion, the dark figure took a single step forward. All of a sudden he was bathed in the silver iridescence of the moonlight from outside which tumbled through his shroud of darkness and gave birth to the shimmering gold claw at his side and the blood-red hue of the his long, creaseless cape. His arms came up to his chest and folded in a posture of either defence or calm self-assurance and his eyes fixed upon the suddenly knowing burgundy gaze of the woman held in his complete and utter thrall.

She took a moment to catch her breath before gingerly straightening herself out and pulling the dusty sheet further around her shoulders self-consciously.

"V-Vincent?" Tifa Lockheart stuttered in complete awe.


	8. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 7

Chapter 7 **__**

Chapter 7

~by Lucrecia Marionette

Their eyes locked for what felt like an eternity more; soft burgundy met the hellish flames of the ruby gaze and faltered quickly, turning away bashfully. But even though Tifa now focused her attention upon the bed-stand by her side, she could still feel those almond eyes boring into her very being. She swallowed hard despite the fact a sense of familiarity swept over her and fought with every ounce of her strength to face him once more. 

Her eyes lingered more on his body than his face this time as she sought to rid herself of the knowledge that he seemed to be reading her soul like an open book. _He still looks so thin_, she mused numbly as she examined the wide belt which seemed to hang with a gravity defying grace around his waist. _And those clothes are still far too big for him._

He donned exactly the same outfit as he had done over three years before; the cape of deepest crimson pouring from his shoulders like a waterfall of blood. And to mirror the ebony clothes beneath it, his raven hair tumbled luxuriously over the high neck of the cloak. It was from there that her eyes inevitably lifted upwards to finally meet with his own once more. This time she noted with a degree of surprise his stare had softened by a fraction and that marble-like visage seemed so much less deadly bathed in the silvery moonlight. 

"H-Hello Vincent," she forced out in elaboration of her previous 'greeting'. "It's me… Tifa."

For a long time the hollow, tense silence of the invisible demons holding their breath in anticipation sucked energy from the room like a vacuum as they waited for their master to speak. As a solitary cloud drifted over the face of the pearly moon, she noticed Vincent shift a little, his eyes flicking outside in an almost impatient manner. Somehow spurned on by the change in light he tilted his head to one side in a curious gesture and blinked.

"Good evening, Tifa," he said in a simple salutation, his soft, deep voice carrying so well through the mansion air. "I have not forgotten who you are."

A cautious, wan smile turned the corners of her lips up a tiny amount as she gauged his mood. As always it was futile though, and shaking off the unfounded feeling of fear from their first encounter, she resorted to what she knew best. Her face breaking out into a completely bright smile which seemed to illuminate the dank chamber, she took a few steps forward and hugged him warmly with the joy of the delayed reunion. "It's been far too long, Vincent," she told him as she squeezed him tightly. "You've missed out on a lot you know."

Despite her friendly monologue and prompts, it felt as though she were embracing a column for all the warmth she received in return from him. She felt him stiffen under her hold and a frown crumpled her prematurely cheerful face as she waited for a reaction of some kind. She soon realised that it would be like wishing for the tides to turn against nature however, and with a reluctant sigh stepped back with a humiliated expression. 

Tifa shook her head sorrowfully feeling immensely uncomfortable in his company. "I only hugged you," she said in flat response, attempting to justify her friendly greeting as she tucked a bang of chocolate coloured hair behind her ear ashamedly. "It won't kill you."

"Perhaps not," he replied impassively. "But I am unused to such… contact."

To emphasise his point he took a step back from the pool of moonlight and into the shadows that had given birth to his entrance. Only his red eyes were visible from the shroud of black and they fixed on her like the stare of a curious cat. She continually berated herself for her original reaction as she sat down on the bed once more making sure that she didn't fall back.

Resting her hands upon her lap a little nervously, she looked at them with a sigh. Clearing her throat as she sought for another topic of conversation, it was several minutes before the sound of their voices shattered the stillness once more.

"So… uh, how long were you standing there for?" She turned her face to him. "Before I saw you I mean?"

He paused for a moment of careful thought as he leant very slightly against the doorframe with a contemplative glimmer in his eyes. "I awoke shortly after sunrise," he informed her matter-of-factly but displayed no such pride in his knowledge; only the monotone of cold and passionless words which came from his pallid lips. "I heard someone moving around earlier but thought it would be best for me to keep my whereabouts a secret. I came here about two hours ago."

"Two hours?" Tifa repeated in surprise, her eyebrows perched high on her forehead. "And you've just been watching over me?"

"It appeared as though you needed the rest." He stopped, his eyes looking to a crack on the wall before he turned slowly and purposefully to her. "I am not one with the right to deny any creature such a desire," he ended.

Tifa knew that had anyone else come up with such a statement after the dark man's past experience would have had a trace of irony or bitterness in their voice. But no, there was nothing. Not even a contempt over his ability to creep up on her whilst she slept; exposed and open to any kind of danger. She wondered whether or not this was his idea of a joke; dry and utterly inappropriate. But she detected no smile or humour in his voice and fell silent in fear of somehow embarrassing herself any further.

Once more they refrained from speaking. Tifa's hands slipped down to her sides as she entwined her fingers within the sheets nervously. _Stop acting like a child for God's sake_ she snapped at herself angrily. _It's Vincent! The same man who fought by your side as AVALANCHE plunged to the depths of the planet. He's not some evil monster out to murder you as you sleep. If anything, it sounds like he kept you safe. He can probably tell how weak you are._ Tifa's vision fell upon her thighs. The once skin-tight blue jeans had hugged her legs so beautifully; Cloud always used to say that he loved her wearing them. But now they wrinkled and gathered over her wasted muscles exposing the sickly and faded strength beneath. 

She smoothed them out awkwardly perhaps in some unconscious effort to disguise her state from the ex-Turk. Although, in all honesty she knew that he could see through any front that she attempted to put up around herself. Turks had a bad habit of doing that she recalled lazily. Vincent so much more than most.

To her minor astonishment, it was he who broke the next bout of hush as in the distance, church bells chimed eleven o'clock and the audible bangs of people locking up their homes for the night travelled through the windowpanes. "If you have slept for such a long period of time, then you will be hungry," he said eventually; it was not a question. 

Before she could even stop or think, her head turned to him sharply from the nightscape through the glass portal in the chamber. "You have food? But I didn't think you ate." 

Suddenly feeling herself go a vivid red, she cringed in horror put her face in her hands. "Sorry, so sorry," she mumbled into them giving a moan of regret. "That was so insensitive. I can't believe that just came out. I'm so sorry, Vincent."

He blinked slowly. "Food provides me with a some sustenance, so I do have a little. Nothing much I fear."

His voice was completely devoid of any emotion as ever, and as she glanced up at him there was no sign of insult or anger on his features. She found herself wishing that there was; no matter how drastic, _anything _would be better than this imperturbable visage she was confronted with. Looking over him once more for any more subtle signs as to his possible mood, she hesitantly came to her feet and brushed down her legs. Giving a nod of acceptance, she felt bile rising up the back of her throat in pure awkwardness. Pulling the lapels of her tan leather jacket further around her neck in a self-conscious gesture, Tifa stared at the floor.

"Follow me."

He turned, and the only part of him that was discernible through the shadows, his eyes, disappeared. With her vision pointed downwards, Tifa didn't realise just how blind she was until she walked straight out into the landing and was consumed by the night. Her head lifting in alarm and staring sightlessly around the area, she stumbled back in worry.

"Vincent?" she hissed out. "Vincent!"

"… Yes?"

She gasped in shock as the ruby eyes suddenly appeared by her right shoulder. "Oh!" she gasped, panting heavily to regain her breath and composure. "Don't leave me like that! This place is terrifying in daylight, let alone _now_."

She somehow sensed the feeling of apprehension wash over him as he paused in thought and his eyes narrowed. Stopping and starting once before finally managing to get the words out, he turned slightly away from her as though in some inner shame. She didn't find the chance to dwell upon this odd act however as he began to speak. 

"Put… your hands… on my shoulder," he said to her with the first sign of hesitance she had found in him since her arrival. She bit on her tongue so hard that she tasted blood to stop herself from screaming as the skeletal, golden claw of his left hand closed around her wrist and directed her to his shoulder. The icy metal digits clamped with a peculiar gentleness over her thin arm, the thumb and index finger of the gauntlet overlapping as they completely encircled her wasted limb. She grasped the soft material of his cape with desperate, fumbling movements and grabbed his other shoulder for extra reassurance. She felt him pull away from her and she stumbled after him anxious and blind; completely in awe of his ability to pierce the almost living darkness.

"Can you really see through all this?" she whispered in wonder as they hiked through the corridor. If her feet didn't creak and stamp so loudly upon the decaying floorboards then she would have believed herself to be suspended in oblivion. She knew that it should've terrified her, but having her old friend nearby subdued her fears until she found herself walking slightly faster if only to be that little closer to the person who seemed to have the blackness at his very command. 

"Yes," he said simply after the vast period of silence. 

And that was that.

It seemed an unnaturally long time before the narrow corridor opened out into the vast hallway to halt their joined journey. Feeble light made the wall of dust which had once been a stained glass window glow pathetically, shedding a very welcome illumination onto the crumbling chamber. Vincent's pace quickened a little and she dropped her arms to her sides as he pulled away. He paused at the top of the sweeping flight of stairs to look at her in some silent gesture to do likewise and walked down them. She hesitated and observed him for a few seconds more before grudgingly moving in his footsteps, turning down the staircase with a loud creak as one of the floorboards moaned its objections beneath the moth-eaten carpet.

As she looked up, he disappeared with a confident gait into one of the multitude of doorways at the bottom of the vast hall; the exit swung shut behind him and her pace quickened a little in desire to be rid of her solitude. Moving through the doorway and closing it gently behind her, she felt her way down the small passage until she arrived in a small kitchen. He stood before a badly cracked window; the sound of running water filled the tiny chamber. There was only room for a small table in the minute floorspace forcing any inhabitants to brush past it whenever they travelled from one side of the kitchen to the other. The bench tops were bare and surprisingly clean considering the rest of the mansion; a bread bin sat to one side of the sink and a kettle began to boil quietly on the worktop beside her.

Vincent turned, wiping his hand dry on a tea-towel. He looked at her silently for a fraction of a second in thought before opening up a drawer beside him. He slipped his claw inside and produced a very dusty looking white candle. Producing a box of matches, he struck one, the brief illumination almost blinding the woman who watched him curiously. The spark settled into a warming glow as the wick began to flicker and heat up; he passed it to her.

"Here, this should help."

She took it gratefully and pulled up a chair by the table, sitting down on it as her eyes stared inquisitively around the room now that the small flame provided light. Eerie shadows skipped across the cob-web laced ceiling and the numerous creatures which had probably lived undisturbed for a great length of time scuttled back into their holes and peeked out with beady eyes. She saw none of them though she fixed her attention upon her companion's back. As she did so, the kettle clicked loudly and he poured out the contents into a mug; the clinking of a spoon stirring it filled the air until he threw it into the sink and put it on the table before her.

"I don't have any tea I'm afraid," he apologised. "If you are intending on staying for any great length of time then I can give you some Gil to buy things tomorrow."

She gave him a warm smile as she cupped the mug in her hands and took a sip from it. "It's nice," she complimented him. "You have a good memory."

He gave her a questioning glance as he sat opposite her.

"I don't take any sugar; I'm impressed you remembered."

He gave a nod of understanding but said nothing as he stared immovably out of the partially shattered window; cracks snaking over it like the cobwebs which framed the pathetic screen. He seemed to stare straight through the imperfections and watched the silhouettes outside with slow blinks, his shoulders rising and falling an immeasurably small amount as he breathed.

She continued to examine him quietly with the candlelight in his contemplative position. If she ignored the circumstances of her arrival, then she realised that she might as well have still been on the Meteor Quest for all he had changed. He was like a moving photograph taken all those years ago; his skin and hair as smooth and unblemished as a picture. His claw rested across his lap and his good arm over that as though he was trying to shield it from her in an unconscious motive. _He probably knew how terrified I was when he grabbed my arm_ she murmured mentally as she took another sip of her coffee. _Damn, this could've gone so much better. I virtually screamed in fright at the guy when I woke up, then I went and hugged him like he was Barret and openly questioned his vampirism._ She set her mug down on the table and stared down at it fixedly with a grim face. _He doesn't want me here and I haven't exactly helped matters._

Another cloud drifted across the moon outside as she swirled her coffee absently, too deep in her thoughts to even notice as he turned to face her. As she happened to glance up and catch his eyes she almost gave a yelp in surprise and went bright red. "Just lost in my thoughts," she mumbled wishing that she could stop her stomach from lurching whenever those demonic red eyes fell upon her frame.

She played with her mug with a sigh and eventually resigned to putting it down as she placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms. Her eyes drifted around the kitchen once more as she sought vainly for a line of conversation. "So how long have you been here for then?" she asked him pleasantly and she heard the rustling of his cloak as he shifted back to look at her.

"Perhaps… three years," he answered thoughtfully. "Maybe a little more. It's been three and a half years since we destroyed Meteor."

She nodded. "Yeah, something like that…" Her voice trailed off as her brows furrowed a little. …_and three years since Cloud left…_ she reminded herself emotionlessly. She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply; feeling his attention on her, she straightened herself out a little and ran a hand through her hair. 

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It was just so ruined and dusty when I arrived that I figured you would've long gone."

He said nothing and turned away as she glanced at him. He showed no sign of curiosity and seemed more interested in the window for all its icy intrigue rather than her motives for arriving on his doorstep without notification or reason. She pulled a face and drummed her fingers along the table-top irritatedly as a line of melted wax dribbled lethargically down the side of the candle balanced a few inches from her. She prodded the warm, viscous liquid unenthusiastically and pondered whether she really should be there any more. If anything, any interaction between them was more stilted and restrained than it had been during the Meteor Crisis. She'd come with the inner hope that she could somehow prise him from his shell, open out his heart and see just what went on in that mind of his which could help her own loss. But now, all she could see was that white-marble statue with crimson eyes and a red cape, impassive and uncaring as to her life and troubles. 

She found herself suddenly longing for the constant supervision and concern of the couple who had brought her to this miserable place; they were only in the inn and it would take her less than ten minutes to walk there. Their worrying and watchful care had been fully unappreciated then but now her body yearned for a warm fireplace and the company of her boisterous pilot and his wife. She missed Cid's loud, raucous laugh vibrating up the walls as she rested her head against the magnolia walls of her bedroom at night, gazing out onto the snow covered landscape. She missed Shera's occasional intervals as the matronly technician tried her hardest to make some conversation or initiate some sense of enthusiasm within the broken young proprietress. But she'd been unresponsive and cold, _Just like Vincent_ she mused_. _

Perhaps I should say my good bye now, she sighed inwardly. _He doesn't want me here and right now, I don't want to be here. There must be a better way to deal with this…_

As she turned to him, she noticed the slight frown which slightly buckled the skin on his forehead anxiously; it was the first show of any internal emotion she had seen in him since their meeting. Titling her head to one side curiously in a friendly concern, she reached out and very gently touched him on his right arm as it rested on the table opposite her. He physically flinched at the contact, snapping his head back from the window to stare at her with an almost angry panic as he held his fleshy forearm accusingly. She sat back from him in shock, but his face quickly became devoid of any thought as he narrowed his eyes and seemed to swallow forcefully.

"A-Are you okay?" she stammered worriedly.

He gave a single, slow nod as he sat up straight in his chair as though embarrassed in his unexpected display of alarm. "There is food in the cupboards," he stated tersely to drag them back to the original topic as she looked marginally taken aback by his sudden change in mood. "Just look around if you want something."

"Thanks," she replied hoarsely, unsure of how to take his demeanour.

He stood up with a glance around the chamber. "It should all be perfectly edible," he told her quickly in a cold reassurance. "Just throw out anything which isn't."

She nodded. "Yeah, that's fine Vincent. Really it is." 

She looked up at him and noticed for the first time how tense he appeared; under the veil of raven hair his jaw was clenched and his fists were balled in an oddly anxious display. His gaze was continuously flicking to the windows and doors as he thought and that ever-impenetrable mask he wore over his visage was cracked with the signs of some inner-turmoil. He no longer met her eyes as though worried of what he would be showing her and even then his stare lingered hungrily over the exit. His breathing was quickened and audible even to her own ears as she watched him in amazement at the sudden change. The problem eventually dawned upon her with a hellish realisation and she squirmed awkwardly in the creaky chair.

"I-I know that you want to go now… into town to…" her voice trailed off awkwardly. "Don't worry about me, I'll just find my own way around," she told him with a restrained urgency and he sighed thankfully. 

"I'll be back before sunrise," he said quietly. "I should've left a while ago…"

She smiled up at him, but he was already walking around her to the doorway and took no notice of her forced reassurance. He paused at the mouth of the passage as he pressed his claw up against the wall. "You're in no danger from any of the mansion's previous inhabitants," he forced out as he faced the shadows beyond the chamber. "They've all gone now. But even still, be careful. There has been talk of creatures killing travellers up in the mountains recently and I imagine that it is only a matter of time before they venture down to the Nibelheim."

Clenching his hands he walked briskly from the kitchen, the click of the corridor-door shutting behind him was the only indicator of his progress. She listened for another few minutes to find some sign of his presence in the building but it was useless; not even the large front door made a tremor as he pulled it shut behind him.

Tifa sighed deeply as she leant back on the rickety wooden stool and held her empty coffee mug in her hands thoughtfully.

Their reunion had been brief and awkward to say the least; despite his slight lack of coldness when speaking with her it was like encountering a stranger. And a dangerous one at that. And yet still, despite his abruptness and preference of the solitude she had interrupted she couldn't help but smile wistfully with a bizarre feeling of comfort rushing her senses. His vampirism had been a curse to him since they had first uncovered him in the basement of this very house and yet he had never exposed them to it. It had been his own private problem; a source of ire he had no wish to inflict upon them and had always insisted on the utmost secrecy when he went about his business. 

As she ran her fingers along the grain of the wooden table her eyelids drooped wearily. Who was to know how long it had been since he'd last fed? But one thing was for certain, he didn't wish to press upon her the threat he posed when desperate for the unnatural thirst Hojo had bestowed upon him.

Despite everything, his cold demeanour and unfeeling comments, he still didn't want her to be hurt. He still didn't want to be the one to harm the people who he had saved the world with.

As Tifa stood and stretched luxuriously, the faint smile still played upon her lips. That was more reassuring than any kind words he could offer her or any gesture he could make. He was still the same old Vincent that had left them all those years ago and it made her very soul sing with happiness.


	9. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 8

A shaft of golden light playing upon Tifa's face awoke her late the next morning **__**

Chapter 8

~by Lucrecia Marionette

As Tifa slept, she dreamt of music. Deep, trailing notes echoing with a sombre scale in her visionless coma acted as the tranquilliser to the prowling beast. And the nightmares of Him which had haunted her frail mind since He left her shrank back like demons to a flame. It washed over her like an inky sea over a silver beach and a smile played upon her numb lips as she sank into the dreamless lull she thirsted so desperately for.

A shaft of golden light playing upon Tifa's face awoke her late the next morning. The warmth it bathed over her skin and the light which flooded through her lids caused her to stir with a light moan and stretch even before eyes were even open. Squinting against the mid-morning light, she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her gaze drifted leisurely to the window by her bedside and she smiled as she admired the sight of Nibelheim in the first hints of spring. It was already late winter and even the slight amount of warmth offered by the tepid season before summer was welcome. In fact, it was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. 

It stirred her blood with a hollow joy and she slipped from beneath the sheets and pulled on her jeans and pale pink T-shirt, brushing her hair and washing herself in the antique sink in one corner. She grimaced a little as she looked at her haggard visage in the dusty mirror over the basin but sighed as she realised that over the past few months she had looked worse, much worse. The shadows beneath her eyes had faded ever so slightly and there was the gleam of contentment and familiarity beginning to spark in her burgundy irises once more. 

"Looks like moving away has done me good already," she announced with a forced attempt at optimism as she plaited her hair loosely, a few strands hanging over her face.

But still her skin was stretched taunt over sunken cheekbones and her face was the colour of cream; the tone of a faded tan and long-lost healthiness. Now she looked feeble and ill, it made her ache inside with a longing to return to how she once was. Unable to gaze at her reflection any longer she closed her eyes and tilted her face downwards.

Tucking her chocolate brown bangs behind one ear, she turned back to the room. Despite her unenthusiastic attempts however, the strands of hair soon fell forward over her eyes and lips once more in lines of chestnut across her vision. She blew them away in minor irritation but seemed to completely forget their presence as she scanned the chamber before her. 

Had it _really_ been only a few hours since she had stood at that window, cold and petrified of the demon who read her very soul? Had it _really_ been only a few hours since she had talked with an old friend and caught a glimpse of the pain which still tormented him?

Tifa gave a deep sigh. But which of the two beings she had encountered was she about to place her life before? She had questioned herself brutally over the few minutes before she retired to bed the previous night. Having realised that Vincent was just the same as he always had been, the fellow fighter and adventurer and yet anguished demon and night-absorbing vampire, she began to realise that the answer was _both_. 

Recalling images of the Meteor Crisis as she sat at her window in Kalm it was so easy to only view the good parts of their travels, the happy moments and positive events. It was so much harder to reminisce on the few times that Barret, Cid and Cloud had pinned down the ex-Turk to prevent the transformations which riddled his body completely enveloping him after a battle as he screamed and writhed in pain on the floor in his own blood. It was impossible back then to recollect the way that those red eyes would fall upon them hungrily like the sight of a ravenous beast as they made their way from one town to another, sometimes not stopping in any habitations for almost a week. It had almost drove him mad with pain as he fought back the urge to tear their throats out and drink his fill from the people closest to him in the world.

It was simply who he was, she'd never known him to be any different. And just as it comforted her to know he was still the 'same old Vince'', he was also a trained killer with the instincts of a demon and a bloodlust to rival the most depraved monster.

_I'm so naïve_ she reprimanded herself rhetorically. _To think that he was just 'Vincent the depressed and lonely man who fell **into** love and never crawled **out** again'. I was so eager to get out of the bar that I forgot about his problems. Onboard the Highwind I don't think I ever stayed in a room with him for more than five minutes and now here I am hoping to stay for as long as it takes for me to get over Cloud. What was I thinking? _

Tifa gave a violent shudder. Vincent didn't want to hurt her and he never _had_ done as she remembered last night in his desire to leave her presence so hastily. But when AVALANCHE was together it was no mean feat to forget his ails; hiding amongst the group of friends she was a target in many and the protection was great. Now though, she was alone and isolated in this town of familiarity and yet strangers.

Despite the late winter sun flowing in through the windows, she felt suddenly cold and pulled on her leather jacket conscientiously. "Maybe I shouldn't unpack _just_ yet," she decided aloud.

As she walked slowly over to the window, she pressed her hand up against it as she had done the night before. The glass was a little warmer to the touch and her breath made smaller clouds of white vapour against the transparent screen. The dust and film of mud on the opposing side to her however was more obvious in the glinting sun like thousands of tiny diamonds as the frosty ice crystals attached themselves to the minute grains. She pulled a face.

_Would I fail miserably if I were to back out of this now and try to solve my problems in my own time? Cid told me that I shouldn't rush into these things without thinking about them, and I **have** been thinking. Maybe I've been thinking too much and not about the right things. I already know that I hadn't considered how terrified I used to be of Vincent. He's a friend, of course he is otherwise I wouldn't be here in the first place. And I know he's in pain from a lot of things, not just from what Hojo did to him. He's human no matter what his body's been through and surely he needs company. No one can live like this._

She stopped her train of thoughts for just a heartbeat.

__

But he **does**. He's not entirely human and I can't forget that. He has a human soul otherwise he never would've helped us or fallen in love. But no normal person has to drink blood to survive; no normal person turns into a ten-foot demon whenever they lose their temper. He's not stable and maybe this is why he wants to be alone. My presence will only aggravate him. I might drive him into doing something bad!

Tifa gave a drawn out sigh as her fingertips ran down the pane of glass.

__

Was Cid right all along… or am I just giving up too easily?

Pushing back from the window, she took a final glazed glance around the bedroom with the intention of leaving before her sight landed upon a subtle object on her dressing table. Walking over to it carefully she was slightly taken aback to find a collection of five silver coins resting upon a small piece of paper. Sliding the money from the brief letter, she lifted it to eye-level and read aloud.

"'Tifa, Please find the two hundred-Gil upon this note. Use it to buy food and other essentials in the town; get what you wish, I have no desire for anything. I believe that it will be sufficient, Vincent'".

"Curt," was all she said with an almost mournful sigh as she scooped the Gil into her right hand and slipped it into a back pocket. Moving morosely to the doorway, Tifa exited the chamber and walked out into the hall in a contemplative gait. Her hiking boots made soft thuds in the musty carpet as she walked carefully down the dimly lit passageway. She stared down at the carpet nonchalantly as she moved, her eyes not bothering to focus on the threads as she took one step after another in slow, thoughtful movements. Suddenly finding herself out on the balcony, she paused. 

Where _was_ the man she had just been thinking about?

A frown creased her brow. He had reassured her grimly before he left that he would be back by sunrise, but where would he be back _to_? Her eyes drifted curiously to the opposite end of the landing. None of the doors in the corridor behind her appeared as though they had been opened for years, let alone hours. He had to be down the shadowy and more secretive route she had opted against the afternoon before. But was he in a room or had he indeed slunk back to that vile, ancient coffin in the basement as Cid had always jokingly suggested? 

Although leaning unconsciously towards it, Tifa shrugged idly as she made her way down the crumbling staircase and into the hall beyond. Looking around herself numbly she pondered on the next course of action. She knew the building like the back of her hand thanks to the many times she'd visited it over three and a half years ago. The doorways to her right led to the front reception whilst the one slightly nearer her to her would open out into the once elegant and beautiful lounge; a huge fireplace and grand piano against one wall with chaise lounges and high-backed, gothic armchairs opposite. To her left, the entrances to the kitchen and parlour; and behind her the corridor to the backrooms.

Was there really any point in exploring?

She sniffed a little. The areas she had entered since her brief time spent there had been derelict and seemingly abandoned; common sense reasoned that the rest of the mansion would be the same. Vincent didn't seem to care much for his surroundings; wherever he slept and the kitchen appeared to be the limit of his domain. 

It was such a waste though she thought with an inner sigh. That wonderfully ornate glass window promised so much beauty in a place of sorrow and mournful secrets. And the intricate chandelier over her head could shed such a pleasant, crystalline glow to chase out the shadows which lurked in every cob-webby corner. Perhaps he liked it like this though. Perhaps the oppressive atmosphere and dour surroundings aided his desire to remain in seclusion. She mused upon the thought of how easy it would be to slip into his rut of depression if she were to stay in the dilapidated mansion for too long. It didn't come as any great surprise that he was always so isolated and despondent; having slept for thirty-three years in the dour basement of such an edifice to despair he had probably absorbed the sadness into himself. 

She scratched her arm in an absent worry as she once more found her eyes drawn to the unexplored branch of the landing. Perhaps she should go and see him. Maybe it would be a good idea to see where he slept; make sure that he hadn't actually locked himself away back in that coffin of his. 

But no, she shook her head. She had things to do elsewhere. Her mind reeled with guilt as she remembered her muttered promise to Cid and Shera that she would visit them the previous evening.

"Damn," she whispered as she chewed her lower lip contritely. "I bet they were tearing their hair out."

The frown still upon her worn features, Tifa slipped quietly over to the front door and opened it as quietly as she could. Vincent was normally emotionless at the best of times, but she doubted that he would appreciate being disturbed having only just returned to bed. Her eyes glanced over the colourless, stained-glass window over the landing before she turned and closed the door behind her.


	10. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 9

Tifa stepped with as much confidence as she could muster through the Inn doorway **__**

Chapter 9

~by Lucrecia Marionette

Tifa stepped with as much confidence as she could muster through the Inn doorway. The warm, cosy atmosphere hit her like a physical force in such an incredibly strong contrast to the Mansion. The warm, orange walls emanated heat into the thick carpet and lushly furnished reception; it enveloped her like some kind of liquid. Her breath faltered for a moment as her lungs adjusted to the warm air from the bitter coldness outside and she cleared her throat somewhat anxiously. There was a soft shuffling before her, and she looked up to see an old woman, her face crumpled by wrinkles, beam happily at her. Tifa could only find a weak smile in response, but her eyes revealed the sorrow and indecision in her soul. 

"Now then, Deary," he old woman cooed comfortingly. "You look like a girl who could use a good bed to sleep in. All of our rooms are beautifully decorated with en-suite bathrooms. A lovely looking girl like you won't be travelling alone I expect; we have double beds too!"

Tifa squirmed uncomfortably and she walked with a degree of trepidation towards the counter that separated her from the Innkeeper. "Uh… I'm not actually looking for a room," she confided hesitantly. "I'm looking for some people. Um, they're guests here. Can you help me?"

"Oh well," the old lady sighed. She seemed disappointed but lost none of her homely front as she reached down from below the counter and somehow pulled up a huge book from a hidden shelf. "Names, Deary?"

"Oh, Cid and Shera Highwind?"

"Ah! The Highwinds!" The lady exclaimed brightly. "I know them; they're over there in the dining area. We have all day meals if you'd like to get something to eat; you look far too skinny for a girl your age."

Tifa gave a genuine smile of warmth as she thanked the Innkeeper and moved quietly towards a door which branched off from the reception. Peering around the frame it didn't take long to spot the couple seated a few metres away with their backs to her.

"… And I say we go up there now. She said she was going to come down and see us last night. Something must've happened."

"Damnit Shera! She probably found him and they're talkin' about old times even as you sit there panicking. No wonder you've got such a high blood pressure," Cid contended with a hint of anger in his voice. It was apparent that the conversation had been going on for quite some time now.

"Cid! Don't you dare take that tone of voice with me! I'm just worried!"

"I know that you're worried and I'm tellin' you not to be."

The subject of their argument moved awkwardly at the doorway, chewing her bottom lip with a deep frown on her forehead. Running a hand through her hair with a drawn out sigh, she walked into the dining room.

"… This place isn't safe for a young lady walking around at night. Especially not that big house! It sent shivers down my spine just looking at it," Shera continued testily.

"As soon as Vince moved in, those monsters probably moved out-"

"Wait a moment Cid Highwind!" Shera exclaimed in pure horror. "Monsters?? You never said anything to me about _monsters_!"

Tifa coughed subtly and the reaction was immediate. Both of the couple snapped back to look straight at her and their angry frowns collapsed into ambiguous mixtures of relief and shock. Cid leapt up and physically forced Tifa down into his seat as Shera grabbed her hands worriedly as though to make sure that the figure she beheld wasn't an illusion.

"Tifa! You're alright!"

"Y-Yes," she stammered in amazement at their response. "I'm fine."

"See!" Cid grinned happily as he swung around to the opposite side of the table and pulled up a new chair. "I told you that she'd be fine. There was no need for you to worry after all."

Shera shot an angry look in her husband's direction, but smothered it as she turned back to Tifa with an overjoyed expression. "We were so worried," she breathed unnecessarily. "We sat up all night waiting for you."

Tifa looked down at her lap guiltily. "I had a feeling that you would've," she replied apologetically. "I was so tired after the flight yesterday, that as soon as I found a bed I just collapsed onto it. When I woke up it was far too late to come and disturb you."

"Oh it can never be too late," Shera frowned as she squeezed the young woman's hands. "But now we know you're safe and that's a huge weight off my mind!"

Tifa smiled gently back at the technician and there was a comforting pause as their minds re-adjusted to the situation. 

"So," Cid coughed eventually as he and Shera exchanged glances. "Were you… uh, were you alone last night then?"

Tifa shifted her vision to the pilot. "I thought I was at first. The whole place is still so derelict and ruined. I was looking around when I found the bed and I couldn't help but fall asleep immediately. I woke up a few hours later and Vincent was there," she ended shortly and their eyebrows shot up high on their foreheads.

"Vincent??" Cid exclaimed. "He was actually there?"

Shera gasped in wonder. "That's incredible. So he's remained here for all this time? What on earth does he do?"

Tifa faltered as their eyes pressed her silently for information. "I… actually didn't ask him much," she began slowly. "Not much at all in fact." She sniffed a little and her stomach gave a large, unexpected growl as she caught scent of the leftovers from the couple's breakfast. She quickly crossed her arms over her stomach with bright red cheeks. "Sorry," she mumbled in humiliation. "I haven't eaten yet.

Shera smiled warmly. "It's good to see that you've got some appetite back at least."

Without even consulting with the young woman, Shera stood up and walked over to the breakfast bar on the other side of the room clutching a menu. Cid gave a chuckle and Tifa turned to him.

"Has she gone to get me something?"

Cid grinned and nodded. "She'll probably bring you back a pile of food to rival 'Nibel. If you just eat a bit then you'll put her in a good mood for the rest of the day."

Tifa nodded quite seriously and was momentarily taken aback to watch as Cid turned back to her, his expression completely pensive and devoid of any joviality. He leant across the table towards her with a look of concern. 

"How's Vincent?" he asked quickly in a subdued fashion.

"He seems…" she struggled in thought for a second. "He seems alright. The same as he's always been really."

"He didn't try to hurt you or anything did he?"

"Cid!" Tifa exclaimed in horror, a little more loudly than she'd intended. "Vincent would _never_ hurt me!"

The pilot cringed a little. "I know that. I know he'd never hurt you in the past but he's been on his own for so long that…" his voice trailed off and he glanced up in idle interest as a figure mumbled an 'excuse me' and brushed past Tifa's chair.

Following her companion's line of vision, she turned back and only saw the back of the figure move out of the doorway and into the reception.

"If he's the same Vince then he'd never harm you, but I was just worried in case he went a bit… y'know _mad_ after being alone for so long. You know what isolation can do to a guy…"

Cid continued to chatter in a manner which completely exposed his inner joy over Tifa's safety. Although her ears took in his words, they didn't seem to reach her brain and she was only thankful for the sound of his voice and the warm familiarity it brought with it. 

Her eyes gradually drifted from his own steely-blue gaze to a corner opposite her shrouded in shadow. For the first time since her entry into the dining room she realised that there was more than herself and her friends in the eating area. 

From the direction of the person who had brushed past her a minute before there sat a solitary man who stared at her unabated and without any desire whatsoever to disguise his interest in her. She could see only one of his eyes; the other was obscured behind a black eye-patch which cut down his forehead from the right to conceal his left eye. He blinked slowly as her stare locked onto his and she found herself unable to turn away from him.

He had the most beautifully coloured hair; it reminded her vaguely of Reno's vivid red shade, and yet it was much darker like a rich mahogany with tints of deep purple. It was very straight, the tips settling on his shoulders and curling under his chin neatly. His face was masculine and yet feminine at the same time; the jaw was broad and angular but he had very prominent cheekbones running down to thin lips pressed into an impassive line.

But that eye… that beautiful, beautiful eye seemed to hypnotise her and haunt her with memories that she knew she would not forget for as long as she lived. 

It was blue, but not _just_ blue. It was a vivid sapphire; wide and elegant and it literally glowed from the darkness that the man sat within. He blinked again, obscuring the gorgeous cobalt and leaving her with an intense longing until it fell upon her once more. Her heart pounded and her blood raced as that cerulean point continued to stare at her with an intensity which blocked out everything around her until not even the meaningless murmurs of Cid's voice could penetrate her senses.

Her mouth opened slightly and her lips moved tentatively as though she wanted to speak but could find no words to vociferate the words which screamed through her soul. She licked her lips as her eyes widened a little and a strange murmur came up from her throat before she could stop it.

"-TIFA!"

Tifa gave a violent jerk as her head snapped around sightlessly attempting to find the source of the interruption. Cid grabbed her hands roughly and forced her to look at him. "What's with you?" he cried in alarm. "It looked like someone had turned you to stone!"

"Oh God, I'm sorry Cid," she apologised uncertainly. "I-I'm not sure… what happened then."

He perked an eyebrow, but a smile quickly turned up the corners of his lips. "Looks like some of Vincent has rubbed off onto you already, huh?" he laughed quietly.

Her gaze remained disturbingly thoughtful as she gazed back at him. Her lips parting slightly in a desire to speak, she instantly turned her head back to the corner.

But the man had gone.

Her frown deepened as she stood up from her seat and began to scan the room with almost panicked movements. Cid squeezed her hands worriedly and with a reluctant sigh she slumped back into her seat. "Cid, did you just see someone leave this room?" she asked him eventually. "He had an eye-patch."

He looked up reflectively. "There was that guy a few minutes ago, but no one with an eye-patch. Why?"

"Because I could've sworn…" her words lost their momentum but Cid's curiosity was interrupted as Shera placed a plate laden high with food on the table between them, almost crushing their hands. She panted heavily from the sheer weight of the object and Cid burst out in raucous laughter.

"Shit, Shera!" he bellowed. "Are you hoping she'll store this up and still eat it long after we've gone??"

Shera gave him a blank, unamused stare but wearily dropped into her chair, wiping her face with a handkerchief. "I just don't want you leaving hungry," she justified haughtily as she turned to the younger woman. "May as well overdo things than underdo them."

Tifa nodded in agreement although in truth she had no opinion on the subject. She idly reached down and picked up a slice of toast. She rested her left elbow upon the table and pressed her chin on the palm lazily. She nibbled the bread absently as she eyed the water tower outside the bay window at the head of the room, perhaps in some distant hope that the stranger would walk past.

People were already beginning to calm down from the morning rush and now the occasional family strolled past her vision at a leisurely rate. However, it puzzled her to notice that despite their cheerful front in the crisp day air, the eyes of the adults tended to be drawn inexplicably towards the huge, jagged peak of Mt Nibel. It was as though they expected some enormous demon to spring forth from the myriad of black crags and devour the village in the blink of an eye. Was that why the whole place had given such an air of desertion when the Highwind had arrived yesterday afternoon? 

Had the roar of the powerful engines given such an impression of the thunderous snarl of some gigantic beast that they had hidden themselves away in their feeble shelter?

Vincent had mentioned something briefly the previous evening concerning the rumours of creatures living up on the peak and picking off travellers who passed that way. He had also suggested the possibility of said monsters finding their way down to Nibelheim and carrying out the worst fears of the inhabitants. As she pondered on his words it gradually became less of a surprise to her that they would be so edgy. 

Shaking her head to dismiss the peculiar musings which invaded the conversation mid-flow, Tifa took another feeble bite of her dry toast.

"So anyway," Cid continued as Shera poured out a cup of coffee for herself and her husband as he helped himself to a sausage from the plate. "I was asking you about Vince before you zoned out on me."

Tifa merely nodded.

He took a bite from the sausage. "How is he? Is he well?"

Tifa shrugged. "He seemed a little distant, but I guess that's nothing too new. A bit fidgety… it was like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and needed to deal with it all last night."

Cid grinned. "So there really _is_ nothing new then, huh?"

"I mean… it was more than I ever remembered. I know that his vampirism used to bother him a lot, but most of the time you could forget about it." Tifa took a bite out of her toast. "But from the second I saw him it… it was like I could _feel_ it, you know?"

"Well, he only used to have to… _do what he had to_ every few days or so, right?" She nodded. "And after those few days he used to get really cranky if he didn't get what he needed. Maybe you just happened to catch him at a bad time. Maybe it's been a while?"

Tifa nodded as she reached for another piece of toast under the watchful gaze of Shera who smiled quietly to herself. The proprietress simply held it between her hands however and diverted her stare to it contemplatively. "Perhaps. He must really be trying to hold himself back then if that's the case because it was _really_ obvious. I'd only seen him that anxious when we hadn't stopped by at any towns for almost a week."

"Pretty desperate then?"

Tifa nodded as she put the toast back on the plate. She leant back in her chair and held her hands over her stomach leisurely. "I don't know. It's been so long since I've been around him that I guess I just need to get used to it all again. I suppose that anyone who didn't know him like we used to would pick up on things like that. I'm just not sure if I feel… well, _comfortable_ around him."

"But, he felt as ease with _you_? He doesn't mind helping you?" Shera inquired softly and Tifa shrank back a little.

"Uh, I actually didn't mention why I'm here," she confided hesitantly and the couple stared at her with arched brows. She met their eyes defensively. "He was desperate to get away and I was too tired to start explaining anything. I didn't want to hold him back any more."

"You'll tell him tonight though?"

Tifa gave half a forced nod and redirected her attention elsewhere in a non-committing answer. Cid just sighed and shook his head whilst Shera repressed the urge to force a more promising answer from the younger woman. She cleared her throat to break the stillness and gestured back at the plate.

"Have something more to eat," she said and Tifa shook her head.

"No thank you," she answered politely. "I'm not hungry any more."

And that was the truth. The stare of that bizarre stranger had utterly dispelled any physical troubles which ailed her at that moment in time leaving only the hollow reminder that eye had given her. The colour was so similar – in fact no, it was exactly the same -as the colour of _His_ eyes. The sign of SOLDIER testing; the glow of Mako hung around that sapphire eye just as it had done on Cloud's. 

But all those that had been exposed to Mako had died long ago after Sephiroth's demise. Mako meant Jenova and only those who had overcome the irresistible lure of the Reunion had survived the urge to kill themselves. Cloud had done so, but at what a cost! So who was this strange figure that had transfixed her so greatly? 

She exhaled deeply. She'd broken away from Kalm to stop thinking and starting acting; already she was fighting against such a simple aim. The only thing she had discovered since her arrival were more things to fuel her ever contemplative fire rather than the energy and dismissal of heartache she needed so greatly.

She sullenly poured out a cup of coffee and sipped it in a hollow action. It was tasteless and burnt her tongue viciously as she swallowed far too quickly. Wincing a little, she put it down on the table before her and held her hands on her lap moodily.

Cid did likewise, and reached for another sausage from the plate. He took a large bite and chewed it as he stared at her. "I think we'll stick around for another few days," he announced carefully. "Just to make sure that you're settling in and everything. If you have second thoughts then it won't be so hard to break away."

Tifa nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Cid," she acknowledged gratefully. "I forgot about that… I meant to ask you how long you'd be staying for."

"As long as you need us to," Shera intervened with a degree of predictability. 

A clock chimed unintrusively in the reception and Tifa counted the strokes silently. "It's one o'clock," she said. "I really should go into town; Vincent gave me some money to buy food and things. The town seems to deserted by afternoon that I'd hate to trouble anyone later."

"Does that mean you'll be staying?"

Tifa shook her head. "I don't know. I'm not sure I feel comfortable enough around him yet, but I'd feel kinda rude if I turned down his Gil."

Shera nodded understandingly. "I can sympathise with that, but if you want to leave then you know where we are. Don't do something to please anyone else if it goes against your own wishes."

Tifa gave a slight laugh and placed a hand over Shera's arm. "Please don't worry so much. You know that I can take care of myself if I have to."

"See," Cid interjected as he pointed half a sausage at his wife in an 'I told you so' gesture.

Shera rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him. Don't be afraid to ask for help."

"I'm not," Tifa reassured.

Shera gave a mildly satisfied gesture as she sipped her coffee quietly.


	11. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 10

10 ****

Stay With Me

By Lucrecia Marionette

~Chapter 10~

Tifa braced herself for the chilling bite of the icy air as she once more stepped out onto the street. Since her time inside the inn, the vicious fangs of frost had been blunted and now they only gnawed gently against her exposed skin. They didn't tear so easily through her layers of clothing as they had done an hour before. She found herself very grateful for the winter sun which seemed so distant and cold despite its feeble warmth.

Slipping a hand into her back pocket, she pulled out the two hundred-Gil and held it in a clenched palm thoughtfully. Her eyes flitted over the rows of quaint buildings, all of the same dry grey stone with brown sloping roofs and flowery curtains drawn back at the small windows. It was no mean feat to find herself believing that they were the very same homes she had gazed upon as a child; the same chimney stacks and maple window-frames. It was comforting to allow herself to slip into that train of thought, but it was certainly a hollow solace.

Shaking her head to subdue the confusing thoughts, her eyes finally fell on a red sign tucked down a small alleyway. It advertised itself as the town's only grocery store for almost fifty years. _More like eight_ Tifa contended bitterly.

Walking forward, she moved through the alleyway and pushed open the shop door. A bell tinkled her arrival and she looked around at the new surroundings. It was an average, small grocery store cramped with shelves on either side literally bending beneath the weight of their load. The windows were so choked up with various items that a dim candle flickered on the counter. It appeared as though she was alone despite the bell which heralded her entrance.

Scratching her right forearm nonchalantly as she glanced around with a degree of unease, she slowly started to look around. Her eyes had a moment's trouble in the feeble candlelight, but as she picked up a small jar she held it up to a solitary shaft of sunlight and squinted.

"Pickle?" she said as she pulled a face and put it down again.

Taking a step back, she gave a loud yelp of shock as she banged into something behind her; to her surprise it gave a noise too. Picking up the pieces of dignity which had scattered to the four winds at her shriek, she spun around to face whatever or whoever she had backed straight into.

"So, so, sorry," a male voice fumbled sincerely. "I didn't see you there. I was just looking at that poster when I took a step back and-"

His voice came to an abrupt halt as his dark brown eyes settled on her frame and bulged a little. His mouth dropped open and Tifa gave an unconscious squirm.

"Hey! Wow!" he exclaimed as he rediscovered his ability to speak. "Y-You're that… _AVALANCHE_ woman aren't you? Tifa something, right?"

Tifa's body froze for a moment before a very vivid red blush crept up on her cheeks. She blinked and glanced away through sheer embarrassment, suppressing the urge to burst out laughing. In busy Kalm the attention directed at she and Cloud had been immediate and intense. However as they became just another couple of faces in the crowd, life soon settled back to normal. It was a sudden shock to rediscover that lost attention in the backwater village of Nibelheim.

"Tifa Lockheart," she replied quietly and the young man gave a bark of laughter.

"Hah! I _knew_ it was you! I'd recognise you anywhere! You're more beautiful in life than you are in any photograph."

Tifa gave a moan of objection and he stopped although the elated grin didn't so much as relax a millimetre. "Don't say things like that," she objected with a frown. This had always been the side she resented; the sleazy remarks and underhanded flattery. Men always seemed to desire something more than a mere meeting and handshake.

"But it's true!" he laughed. The 'conversation' stopped a while as he stared unashamedly at her, but she noticed with a degree of curiosity that his eyes lingered solely on her face. They didn't drift down to examine the rest of her body with the seedy gaze of so many other 'admirers'. For some reason she found herself instantly relaxing under the unexpected action and even lifted her burgundy eyes to scrutinise his own being.

He was a young man, maybe only twenty-one with youthful brown eyes and floppy, chestnut hair which drooped messily over his face. It was apparent that it had, at one stage, been short but months or even a year of disinterest had led it to hang raggedly with a roguish charm. He donned the typical and maybe even traditional wear of Nibelheim; brown slacks with a white shirt and hiking boots. Although his attire was overly casual, it looked neat and fixed. It somehow made her think that he'd tried too hard to blend in. 

The peculiar observation made Tifa tilt her head to one side a fraction and her brow crease a little. "What did you say your name was?" she asked him and he seemed to snap out of his trance with a start.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't," he extended a hand and she took it lightly. He shook it with a pure niceness which showed not even a hint of the rough brutes that had tried to win her favour in the past. "The name's Will. Will Hicks."

Tifa found a genuinely warm smile touch her lips and she gave a nod. "Nice to meet you, Will."

He gave a roguish, young grin and nodded in return; his fringe flopped over his eyes and he flicked it back with his right hand. "You've just made my week. I'd like to say it was _nice_ meeting you too, but that'd make the rest of my life before now seem suicidally depressing."

Tifa laughed and he chuckled with her, his eyes sparkling with some inner joy. As he ran a hand back through his hair once more, he hopped back and perched on the shop counter. Kicking his legs in an oddly childlike fashion, he hunched his shoulders and rested his hands on his lap.

"So how can I help you, Ms Lockheart?" he asked pleasantly and she glanced askance at him.

"Just call me Tifa," she told him before looking over the rest of the room. "You work here?"

He nodded. "Yeah, just a temporary thing. I'd like to get away from this place if I can. It's weird; I wanna get out of Nibelheim and_ you_ come here through your own choice."

Tifa sighed somewhat sorrowfully as she found interest in a loaf of bread. "I wouldn't say that it was entirely by choice," she mumbled.

"Oh no?"

She shook her head. "But I don't really feel like talking about that if you don't mind."

"Of course not," he shrugged. "I'm here to give you assistance, not the third degree."

She forced a smile but only the bread received it as she turned it over in her hands. "Well, why are you here anyway?" she asked him suddenly. "I mean you can't seem understand why I'm in Nibelheim, but what's your excuse?"

"I was born here. Grew up and never managed to find my route to the outside world," he gave a similarly sorrowful smile, but Tifa frowned deeply and gave him an almost angry glance as she put the bread on the counter he sat upon.

"You don't have to recite the Shinra script at me," she replied. "I'm not stupid, everyone knows that after Nibelheim burnt down, actors were moved in to replace the townspeople. I should know; I _really_ was born here."

"Yeah? Well so was I," he retorted and Tifa turned fully to him.

"You were?"

"Yeah! I lived across the street there," he pointed out of the partially covered window to a small doorway on the other side of the alley. "Me, my Mom and sister."

"Really?" He nodded. Tifa sniffed, "I honestly can't remember seeing you around."

"Well, I'm not so sure I saw you either," he slipped off the wooden partition onto his feet before her. "I didn't actually go to school or anything to be honest." He shoved his hands in his pockets and Tifa gave a sudden squirm of awkwardness. "After my dad died he left us with a plot of land about a mile out of town. We had a small house out there too, but my Mom was always really ill and it wasn't practical. We grabbed all our belongings and moved to the small house opposite here.

"You probably never saw me because I was always out on the field. My sister looked after Mom and I brought back money. We didn't have time for other kids and playing." Will leant up against a wall and crossed his ankles, looking down at the floor.

"O-Oh, I'm so sorry," Tifa stumbled, "I didn't mean to be so abrupt."

"Heh, it's alright. How were you meant to know?" She still pulled a face and turned away averting her attention to a shelf covered with confectionery. 

There was an unbearably long pause and Tifa slowly began to realise that there was only a limited amount of time she could look at jams and jelly before it became totally ridiculous. Reaching out and picking up a random jar, she put it beside the loaf of bread she'd chosen.

Will cleared his throat. "Do you want a hand?" he asked quickly and she shook her head.

"It's okay, I think I know what I'm getting anyway."

He nodded and watched her subtly as she moved back and forth across the small store floor, lingering next to some shelves, walking right past others. Within ten minutes of quietness, she had collected a small pile of objects on the counter. She cleared her throat and Will looked at her. "You done?"

She nodded and he sat back on the counter, swinging his legs over the top and slipping behind it in a single, practised movement. He brushed himself down, and moved nonchalantly to an ancient looking store till. There was the constant sound of 'tinging' and 'clunks' as he worked the old machine, handling every object she had picked out and punching it's number into the contraption. He swore quietly every now and then as his fingers slipped, and she couldn't help but allow a smile touch her lips at the sound.

Eventually, he put everything into a large brown paper bag and set it down on the counter.

"Anything else, Ms Lockheart?"

"Please, it's Tifa," she reprimanded with a slight smirk. "And that's everything thanks."

"That'll be 175Gil please," he ended and she handed him the money, warm from nestling inside her palm for so long. He handed her the change and nodded in the direction of the poster he had been so engrossed in during their collision. "Are you going?" he said cryptically and Tifa frowned.

Her head turned towards the direction he had indicated and her eyes widened in surprise. "The Winter Fair?" she exclaimed. "I haven't been to one of those since I was a little girl! I was the Winter Princess one year!"

He grinned. "Really? I can't remember that."

She nodded, slightly taken aback but dismissive of his forgetfulness. "Yeah, it was the one before Nibelheim was burnt down. It was a big one that year because people from other villages actually came to see. I remembered feeling on top of the world in my blue, satin dress."

A grin pulled the corners of her mouth up in reminiscence and he chuckled. "I'm sure you looked wonderful."

She laughed. "I'll definitely be there. Is it tomorrow?"

"The fifteenth of January, yup. It starts around sevenish." He shuffled with a sudden humiliation and Tifa stared at him with a puzzled smile. "Are you … going with anyone?" he asked apprehensively and Tifa paused in thought.

Her mind drifted to Vincent and stopped curtly as she tried in vain to find some image of him skipping around the holly-laden well which was decorated with winter blooms during the day of the fair. Having failed miserably to even envisage a smile beneath the high neck of his blood-red cape, she gave a drawn out sigh and shook her head.

Will seemed to brighten instantly and a smile found its way back onto his childish features. "Well… d'you wanna go with me?" he blurted out and Tifa blinked at the speed of the question.

Unable to turn down the thoroughly innocent hope on his face, she laughed and nodded. "Alright then, she relented warmly. "But it's not a date okay? It's just because we both happen to be going."

"Sure," he replied, and she could've sworn that his already huge grin broadened a little. "Do you want me to pick you up so we can walk there together? Are you staying at the hotel?"

Tifa shook her head and chewed her bottom lip nervously. "I'm… actually staying in the old Shinra Mansion," she responded hoarsely.

She expected the natural reaction of astonishment; the townspeople disliked lifting their eyes in the direction of the dilapidated building let alone walking past it. Actually going inside would be like marching up to a green dragon and kicking it in the head when its trying to eat – pure suicide. Hell was contained within those walls and it was common knowledge. If she had revealed that information to any of the inhabitants she would brace herself for the undoubted horror and alarm, the disbelief that such a frail looking woman would place herself in such peril.

But Will just stared at her.

The smile slipped off his face as though it had never been there and his sparkling brown eyes widened. From the bottom of her peripheral vision she saw his fists clench so tightly that the knuckles almost seemed to glow white in the dim candlelight. 

He swallowed hard and managed to blink. "I-_In_… the Mansion?" he whispered and she nodded, his panic infecting her brain with a multitude of questions. "Wh-Why??"

She tensed her jaw and inhaled deeply. "Is there something… wrong with that…?" she answered with as little tremor as possible although it didn't appear as if he'd notice even if she sang the words. 

He shook his head slightly but quickened until she felt as though she'd have to lean across and physically stop him from moving. His entire frame seemed to judder with an unfounded panic and it was with a great amount of effort he stop himself from moving. "Not a problem," he said with a nervous laugh. "None at all."

She flashed him a look of pure disbelief, but he shrugged it off as he turned away from her and looked at the wall behind the counter. "I suppose that as someone else who survived the fire, I'm surprised you'd want to even look at the place."

Tifa relaxed. That's all it was; he was scared of the place, just like anyone else with two brain cells to rub together was. She exhaled through relief; she recalled that had their position been reversed then she probably would've reacted the same as him. It was pure madness to imagine anyone with her history returning to the place which essentially destroyed her life.

__

Just like Vincent then, huh? She questioned herself rhetorically.

Swallowing a little, Tifa gave a frown of concern. "Are you alright?" she asked gently and Will slowly turned back to her.

He forced a smile. "Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah I'm fine. I just… I mean I know you're stronger than me. You'd _have_ to be to go to somewhere like that again, but you can't blame me for being shocked."

"Of course not," she agreed.

"Why don't you stay at the hotel then? It can't be safe for you up there."

"The only way to get over problems is by picking yourself up and staring at them straight in the face."

"Well, I admire you for it," Will sighed as he arched his eyebrows. "But I really don't think you should be up there anyway. The people talk about a weird monster living up there. Only drunks seem to ever see it, but you've probably been told about the missing travellers up on Nibel, right?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me if they'd moved down into the old Shinra place. I bet they're a lot more intelligent than most would give 'em credit for." He leant back on the wall behind him in a confident fashion and folded his arms matter-of-factly. "I'm certain I've seen something up there myself," he sniffed. "Huge it was, with eyes on stalks and about four arms."

Tifa suppressed a smirk and choked back a laugh. "Four arms, huh? You must've been terrified," she smiled.

"Oh no," he shrugged. "Not really. But that's nothing compared to the _sounds_ I've heard. Awful wailing… almost like a human scream. Not everyone's seen the thing up there, but I can guarantee that most will've heard it."

Tifa tilted her head to one side. "I'd take stories like that with a pinch of salt. The Mansion's old; you probably just heard the wind rushing through the panes."

He shook his head. "No way. I _know_ what I've heard, you'll hear it too if you stay up there."

"Well, last night I slept in the West Wing and I'm in one piece now."

Will shrugged again and unfolded his arms. "I'd feel happier if I knew you were in the Inn, the lady who runs it is real nice."

Tifa wrapped her arms around the large, brown grocery bag which sat bulging with items on the counter. She peered at him over the top between a couple of candlesticks and tins of soup. "I'm safer up there than you could know," she revealed with a wistful smile. "Appearances aren't everything you know. It may look like something from an old horror movie, but in the sunlight its so beautiful it takes your breath away. And there are no monsters up there," Tifa stopped. Her brow creased in a moments thought as sudden, warm memories of a scarlet caped man, bloody eyes glittering with an inner strife as he fought back demons from the pits of hell to keep her safe. A peculiar sense of peace rushed through her veins at the revelation and the fog of indecision lifted abruptly from her heart and mind. "I can _promise_ you that."

He stared at her suspiciously. "Maybe you should show me around then, huh?"

Tifa faltered for a second as those confident brown eyes sparkled at her with an almost daring glint and she responded with a wry smirk. "Deal. I will then," she replied a little haughtily to his unspoken challenge. "Come to the Mansion at six-thirty; I'll show you around for half an hour before the fair starts."

He grinned. "I accept. See you then."

She gave a quiet laugh as she left the small store with a renewed sense of determination and hope. Her choice had been made and it felt wonderful.


	12. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 11

11 ****

Stay With Me

By Lucrecia Marionette

~Chapter 11~

Tifa pressed her back up against the Mansion door as she struggled clumsily with the large grocery bag in her arms. She crushed it up against her chest and she fumbled for the door handle hidden in her blind sight. She gave curses of pure frustration as her nails scraped across nothing but peeling varnish and splinters bit at her fingertips. Eventually her digits closed around the cold metal knob and she twisted it violently, almost falling onto her back as the door swung open at an alarming speed.

Staggering back a few paces, she quickly regained her balance and turned around to nudge the door shut with her shoulder. Stopping in the large hallway, her eyes drifted uncertainly over the layout. It looked no different to how it had done the afternoon before; a little less overwhelming and impressive perhaps, but the same nonetheless. 

And yet _something_ had changed.

Her eyebrows knitted together in an almost accusing fashion as her gaze lingered over every corner which appeared as though it could've hidden something, or every niche from which a monster could burst. No challengers appeared to rival her glare however, and after a few minutes of agitated surveying, she cautiously took a few steps towards the kitchen. As she neared the doorway, passing the base of the staircase she came to a gradual halt. Tifa tilted her head up a little cautiously and inhaled hesitantly.

A peculiar aroma filled the air; so distantly familiar and yet so unspeakably wrong. 

It was weak though, like the vapour of a memory so accessible and yet so hard to grasp. 

Frowning to herself, she pulled a puzzled expression and moved through to the kitchen in an effort to shrug off the apprehension which bit at her heels. Nudging open the door, she dropped the bag unceremoniously onto the worktop and began to pull out the numerous objects, stacking them along the length of the bench. There didn't seem to be much point in placing them in a specific order, after all it didn't appear as though the Mansion's sole occupant had any kind of organisational system.

Crumpling up the large, brown paper bag as her eyes ran critically over the dusty room she gave a sigh and simply pushed it to one side of her temporary arrangement. It certainly seemed as though she could survive quite happily considering her lack of appetite as of late. The meagre supplies of food would last a week perhaps; especially considering the icy climate of house. The single bottle of milk sat quite happily in a frosty shade whilst she crammed the bread into an absurdly out-of-place bread-bin, being sure to pull out the furry green remnants of it's previous inhabitant. 

Her stomach twisted a little at the sight, and without any other choice, she leant across the sink and lifted the window. Swinging her arm back, she chucked the mouldy loaf of bread into the wild bushes outside and closed the pane behind it.

Turning around and dragging a chair from beneath the table with the intention of relaxing for a while, Tifa's body instantly froze. A terrifying noise echoed through the corridors of the mansion; so close and yet so far. 

She held her breath anxiously and trained her ears to the sounds of the surrounding, dilapidated building. Despite her efforts however, she was met with no reward and only the faint memory of the haunting sound. It was a moan; a pitiful, agonised moan which trembled through the feeble structure and hung ethereally in the air like a ghostly presence. And yet it quickly dissipated once more. Now she clutched her the neck of her T-shirt worriedly as she pondered upon its source. Was it perhaps nothing more than a creaky door moving slowly in a faint breeze?

Biting down on her bottom lip, armed only with an intense curiosity and trepidation, she moved quietly through the kitchen passage and out into the main hall once again. Although her ears were oblivious to the eerie sign which had caught her attention so firmly before, the unusually inexplicable aroma had become stronger since her first whisp of it upon her entry.

Last night the Mansion had contained only the crisp, mellow smells of darkness and age. Now the air hung with a sharp and somehow bitter stench so very faint to her nostrils_. _

It's still so wrong though… 

She _knew_ that she should never have been able to pick up on something like that. Not unless it foretold of something terrible; she had smelt it before and it made her muscles tighten in a panic. Flashes of pain, of conflict and anger rushed through her brain at a startling speed. The ripping anguish of a direct strike and scrape of a rage fuelled flail. 

Her hand reached very subtly to the almost invisible line which ran between her breasts; the scar which was now so faint and had once meant the destruction of her entire life. There was the glare of silver and then red. 

Just red. 

It filled her nostrils with its pungent stench and it filled her eyes with its crimson hue. She could hear nothing then except the pounding of her own heart and it ran warmly between her fingers like tepid honey. It had tasted so salty, so unbearably saline then. And that had been the only thing that she could remember before those strong arms had enigmatically embraced her and everything went black. _The Reactor._

Déjà vu flooded Tifa's senses once more as she so fearfully sniffed the Mansion air.

There was only one thing that sharp, metallic odour could signify. 

__

Blood.

It was normally so weak, so indefinable to the human senses that it had to be close by, and there had to be a lot of it for it to be noticeable. Just like _that_ time; just like all those years ago at the reactor when she had lay slain with her front sliced open so easily open to the bitter, chemical-laden ether.

As she took a fearful tread backwards, Tifa started in alarm to suddenly hear yet another soft moan emanating from above her. Her eyes darted up to the landing and her jaw tensed as dread surged through her veins with a horrific intensity. She trained her ears in the hope of catching another plaintive cry, and yet there was nothing.

Not even the wind drifted through the many holes in the outer walls; the branches of the trees which overshadowed the Mansion didn't play against the glass gently. The air was still and very, very silent. 

She swallowed hard and held her breath to calm the racing beat of her heart as it pounded in her chest so strongly she felt as though it would burst out any second. She had to stay calm. She couldn't panic.

But it was so much harder to cease the horrific musings of a terrified brain washing over her vision. All that blood… there had to be so much. And Vincent… Vincent the _vampire_.

Was it possible…? Could it be…?

__

Was this Vincent's doing?

Tifa gave an angry cry of self-rage and shook her head so violently that long tresses of hair wiped around her visage. "No!" she cried out. "Stop that!! "

But there was no answer. The cries stayed silent and even the bloody air seemed to sink at her outcry. She tensed her fists, furious at herself for such evil-implicating thoughts. He wouldn't. He'd _never_ do something so terrible.

But then, she realised. That left only one other option.

"V-Vincent…?" she stuttered in a fearful whisper. "Can you hear me? Are you alright??"

Still silence.

Her brows knitted together in an expression that she wasn't certain represented the determination or worry in her soul as she started to walk quickly up the stairs and to the landing-balcony. Her hand slid along the banister as though she could somehow retain some sense of reality as she moved. Hastily pacing down the right branch of the junction and into the pre-dusk shadows which seemed to hang so artificially around the passage, Tifa swallowed hard.

They enveloped her gratefully but with none of the grimly triumphant elation as they had done the previous night. Were they… _worried_?

"Vincent?" Tifa whispered out again but this time her cautious call was met with a muffled moan. It was closer and clearer this time.

Her heart leapt at the sound and she spun back to face one of the doors she had only just strolled past. It looked so insignificant; so ordinary and secreted in its averageness. Perhaps that's why Vince found it so effective at hiding away the enigma behind it. For such a bizarre creature as himself, an equally unusual door would only be obvious.

It looked so ordinary and so uninteresting that it scared her.

But still, before she could even comprehend what she was doing, she stood before it. Lifting up her hand and taking an unnaturally deep breath, she pushed it hard and took an immediate step in.

The breath hung in her throat as her eyes lifted and focused on the layout before her. She would've stepped back if she could've, but in truth she was so completely and utterly scared that Tifa Lockheart could do nothing more than stare in dumb, aghast silence.

She had never seen so much blood in her entire life.

It was smeared in lines of four across the once faded-white walls; across windowpanes and furniture. Glass lay shattered and bloody like twisted rubies across the wet, crimson carpet and it glistened back at her mockingly like demonic stars against a sanguine sky. Sheets which may have been a light shade of blue lay screwed up and torn viscously; smattered with blotches of blood as it slowly seeped up the liquid which had soaked into the carpet. Ripped material and paper littered the scene as neglected blossoms fall beneath some once beautiful tree over a carpet of red leaves.

It was almost poetic.

And in the centre of the hellish scene lay a shattered figure. Vincent lay face down, his raven hair pooling over and around his shoulders like glistening tar against the exposed sections of pale, pale skin. His normally golden claw was stained a reddy-bronze as congealed blood ran in minute rivers across its surface. He wore only his black shirt and trousers, but the shirt was horribly shredded at the back; strips of the material lay haphazardly across glimpses a white torso. He was so feeble and weak in his countenance that tears sprung to Tifa's wide eyes. 

Finding the means to move once more, her hand went to her mouth as she let out a shuddering sob of dismay. Shaking her head in some pitiable attempt to deny the glimpse of Hades her sight had fallen upon; she gave a wail, ran from the chamber and didn't collapse until she reached the landing.

Weeping copiously, she sank onto her knees, almost choking on the wracking sobs which tore through her frail frame. She looked down at her hands and started to scratch ferally at the skin. At some point she had brushed against one of the walls, perhaps in her feverish desire to leave as quickly as possible. As a result the back of one hand had been smeared with crimson which glittered scornfully at her; blemishing the appendages that had once been so clean. "Th-there's… so much blood," she cried as she dragged her hands along the filthy carpet, tears of anguish streaming bitterly down her face. "I can't get it off!"

Tifa screamed out in frustration as she only served to spread the scarlet plague up to her elbows. 

She was sure it was burning; she was sure that it was seeping into her pores even then, attempting to poison her with the guilt of what she had seen. But, it wasn't just then. This blood, it wasn't just his blood. It was the life substance of so many countless others and she felt her stomach lurch violently.

"So horrible," she sobbed. "So, so _horrible_."

She screwed up her eyes and planted her hands onto the carpet as she hung her head between her shoulders in an attempt to calm herself. She bit so hard onto her tongue to subdue her cries that the hideous salty taste flooded her mouth. She spat but it continued to fill her taste-buds with the metallic residue until she wretched and gagged on the taste.

"No," she wept bitterly as she fell into a choking fit. "I don't want this…"

Her cries gradually softened until now her shoulders only heaved occasionally with a deep sadness. She held her hands across the vertical scar which had once bled just as profusely. It had stopped so long ago now, but in her mind it still hurt. It still stung just as savagely as it had done almost nine years ago.

As she huddled against herself, Tifa was oblivious to the sound of the virtually silent, shuffling steps of the injured man behind her. A soft groan escaped his lips as he propped himself up against a wall and held his head weakly. He squinted against a barely bright light outside and fought with every shred of his mind to retain consciousness. It was slipping quickly from his grasp though, lubricated by his own blood as it tumbled down into the black pit which opened invitingly beneath his feet.

His knees wavered as he attempted to find some purchase on the greying plaster wall he leant against. His claw merely dragged through the weak material, cutting through it easily with its razor-like tips and his wet hand slipped leaving four trails of red behind it. 

"T-Tifa," he gasped weakly and the proprietress snapped back in alarm.

As her gaze fell upon the bloody figure who, through some sheer force of willpower alone stood erect against the wall, his knees finally buckled and he slumped to the carpet like a broken marionette whose strings had finally been snipped. Her gaze lingered over his shattered frame for quite some time before she slowly stood and twisted fully around. 

Ignoring her bloodstained hands as her heart found a new cause, she carefully walked to him and knelt down by his side.

"Vincent?" she whispered gently. She reached out cautiously and draped back a few of the ebony strands of hair which hung possessively over his face. Flecks of scarlet decorated his skin and his eyes twitched at her touch but did not open. "Vincent…" she murmured once more, but it felt more as though she was attempting to convince herself that it was him rather than rouse some consciousness.

The broken puppet made no more movements and with a heavy heart she hooked her hands under his arms and began to drag him gradually away from his bloody room.


	13. Stay With Me ~ Chapter 12

12 ****

Stay With Me

By Lucrecia Marionette

~Chapter 12~

Black. Black. Nothing but black.

There was so much of it. 

Where had the red gone? The red was terrible; the red was haunting and hollow in a way it wanted to drive him mad. There was so much of it and yet he could have none. What was that old adage…? _'Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink'_ he recalled numbly. A bitter smile turned up mental lips as he decided to remain a little longer in this nurturing darkness.

It was empty and lifeless, but within that it was safe. A sanctity against real life and the horrors it had to torment him with. 

__

And there are so many horrors. Too many. Even now… . There are monsters, there's no place to hide from them. They find you eventually no matter how hard you hide…

Mental fists clenched in an effort to push back the tendrils of reality which stroked at his numbness. Here was safety. Here was the enveloping solace he had sought so badly and he couldn't turn it away no matter how hard his body told him otherwise. 

Like a starless night the vacuum seemed to shift and flow before his closed eyes in a somehow solid liquid. It ebbed and flowed with each beat of his heart. But gods... it was weak. He could only barely hear it. Even as he trained his ears to it now, it was subtle. No more than background noise to the silence which roared over the vibrating thuds. So feeble. 

He needed help.

__

But I don't want help. I've never wanted anything except to be left alone. Is that so much to ask? Especially now… oh gods… why did she have to come now? With me like this? She should've stayed away; it's not safe. For her or for me but whilst she has only the monsters in the shadows of the mansion to fight, I have the one within me. 

There are monsters, indeed. 

I know.

For I am one of them.

Vincent sighed deeply in an action he hoped to calm his pounding nerves. Yet as the gust of air caught up an internal bloody froth it agitated his lungs and all of a sudden he was choking. Although his eyes remained shut, his mind was torn viscously from the delicious stillness it had experienced before and his hands clutched at his chest as though to tear away the offending anatomy. 

They ripped at his chest and he could feel the razor-like tips of his claw slice through the thin pale skin. He cried out in pain but still he coughed until he felt as though he was shredding his throat to pieces. But, just then felt something.

So warm in comparison to his icy nerves both within and out of his mind. His eyes snapped open in alarm and his mouth gaped in shock. What _was_ that?

The crimson irises searched around the room and were inexorably drawn towards a heart shaped visage nearby. Its owner leant across the bed he was lain upon and had rested her hands upon his shoulders. As his sight met her burgundy eyes she blanched for a moment before turning sharply away.

"I-It's me Vincent," Tifa stuttered softly. "It's alright; I won't hurt you."

He stared at her tilted face intently. Her stature remained the same, one foot on the floor and the other tucked beneath her as she half knelt upon the white sheets which covered him. Her arms were still extended to press against his shoulders and her whole frame was turned towards him. But her eyes refused to meet his face.

A peculiar look flickered upon his fixed features as he studied her, but it was gone within the blink of any eye revealing nothing of it's owner. He slowly lifted his hands and wrapped them around her wrists. She gave a gasp and looked down at where his icy appendages had gripped her before she could stop herself. Although he was weak, she was too overcome by puzzlement to react and could only comply when he pushed her away.

She stood up and took a step back from the bed apprehensively as he released his grasp and merely sat, half shrouded beneath the sheets looking down at his palms. They were no longer covered with blood as they had been, but he could smell it. His jaw tensed and he pulled up the sheets over his arms and sank back onto the ramp of pillows behind him. Blinking slowly, he looked up at the ceiling.

"This… this isn't my room," he said eventually.

Tifa was bent double, wringing out a bloodstained cloth as he spoke and stopped as soon as the first wisps of his velvety voice touched her ears. It was still so unintrusive and calm, yet it persisted to have such a shocking effect on her body. She tried to carry on as though nothing was wrong.

"Your room… it wasn't," she faltered despite her best attempts and cleared her throat as she stood up straight. "It was in a mess. I couldn't take you there."

His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail as they ran across the dusty surfaces. It didn't seem as though he'd heard her wan response but she waited. He often did this as she recalled; seemed completely uninterested whereas in reality he was probably just searching for an answer. Always thinking so carefully before making so much as a slight gesture. A ghost of a smile touched her lips at the memory and she brushed away a few strands of hair with the back of her wrist. He blinked slowly once more as he looked at her.

"I see. You dragged me here?"

She nodded, not trusting the sound of her own voice as those blood-red eyes bored into her soul in an almost accusing fashion. Coughing nervously, she looked down at the bloody cloth in her hands.

"Thank you," he murmured and she looked at him, taken aback by his display of gratitude.

She paused. "I-It's alright," she stammered uncertainly. "I couldn't just leave you there on the landing. I brought you to the room that I was sleeping in."

His eyes flicked around. "Yes," was all he replied and Tifa began to shuffle nervously.

For a long time there was no more stilted conversation. Tifa played numbly with the damp cloth and Vincent averted his gaze to a spot on the wall opposite him. The young proprietress waited for a moment before taking a few shuffling steps towards the bedstand where there stood a bowl of red-tinted water. Busying herself with it, she wrung out the sodden material a few more times to shatter the silence and tried to study it critically in the fading twilight. 

She slipped a hand into her back pocket and pulled out a match. Striking it against the rough wall with a disturbingly sharp grate, a spark illuminated the room in a tiny explosion.

From the corner of her eyes, she watched as Vincent flinched suddenly and turned to face the light. She chewed on her bottom lip worriedly and frowned in a sudden guilt at his reaction to the unexpected deed. Through some unconscious gesture, she manoeuvred herself between him and the match as she used it to light the wick of a new candle she'd bought that day. The harsh glare softened to a warming glow and she gave a weak smile of satisfaction.

"It's getting dark outside," was all she said and he made no noise to respond. Turning around with the candle in her hand, she slotted it into the partially twisted candelabra which had stood on her dressing table. Although it tilted dangerously to one side, it hung there with a gravity defying grace and continued to burn cheerily. Turning around, she left it on the wooden furniture top opposite Vincent where she felt it could be most useful to her.

She walked back to the bedstand and persisted to try and rinse out the cloth in the already blood-saturated water; she grimaced visibly every time her hands came into contact with the liquid but persisted. It was then that Tifa noticed how Vincent was watching her impassively; his gaze unwavering and unashamedly intent on what she was doing.

"I cleaned you a little," she spoke conversationally to blunt the edge of his silent scrutiny. "I just washed you with a wet cloth though so…" she paused. "So don't worry," she ended in an embarrassed murmur. "You've still got your boxers on."

She half expected him to lift up the sheets and look as any normal man might've done, but instead he continued to gaze at her. 

"Your shirt was almost torn to pieces; I hope you have another you can wear. I can try to patch it up, but I doubt I'll do a very good job. I mean, it'll be alright won't it? You usually wear a cape anyway. And everything you were wearing will need to be washed out thoroughly. If there's one thing I know, it's that blood stains. I know that your clothes are black and everything, but still," her voice trailed off and her obviously nervous actions slowed to a halt.

Frowning down at her futile and pointless action of washing out the once white cloth in the already bloody water Tifa stopped. _This is meaningless_ she informed herself with a restrained anger. _This is meaningless and he knows it_. 

Pushing down the ragged piece of material for the final time, she pulled up a chair and sat down on it. The feeling of trepidation around him seemed to have lessened with the dim but much-needed candlelight and in the weak illumination he seemed so much more exposed. 

That pale skin, so unblemished by time, age and a summer's day was gaunt and ghastly; sickly and feeble. His long, graceful fingers lay rested upon the golden claw as they had done in the Mansion kitchen the previous night as though to shield it from her gaze. Those demonic red eyes glittered back the warmness of the flame in the same glacial way as ice crystals refracted a sunbeam.

But through that mask of imperturbable ponderings she found a crack; his lips were pressed together very slightly making them almost as pale as the skin surrounding them. He was worried. 

And with that, she suddenly realised that she was too. 

Anything which troubled him to any physical extent could only hint at some grave danger; her brow creased at the observation. He seemed almost normal now, a little paler than usual perhaps. But for all she knew, he could've been perched in his usual point at the head of the Highwind; long tresses of ebony hair whipping out behind him and entwining amongst the scarlet ripples of his cape. Those impassionate eyes fixed on some distant beacon on the horizon, searching hungrily over the corn-filled fields which meant so much to her and others onboard yet emptiness to him. 

Her subtle frown deepened a little. What was troubling the normally marble-like man? 

Regardless of his troubles though, she had to know. She _had_ to know what had happened earlier. Why had he been cut to pieces and lying in his own blood yet without a scratch upon his skin? Was it even his own fluid or that of some unseen intruder?

Whatever it was, the truth couldn't be buried so firmly and she couldn't allow it to be. Inhaling deeply to gather her courage, she rested her hands on chair either side of her and turned her head to look at him. 

"Are you going to tell me why your room was covered in blood?" she blurted suddenly.

The effect was immediate and surprising. Vincent's eyes widened as though in some deep, internal terror and he looked away from her. It was as though the tables had suddenly been reversed and Tifa found herself overcome with a mixture of confusion and worry. 

"What happened?" she pressed when over the initial shock. "It looked like you'd been dragged through hell and back."

Vincent brought his hands up from beneath the sheets where he'd tucked them away and rested them upon his lap idly. Holding the palms skywards he stared dumbly down at them. Tifa blinked in astonishment at the immediate reaction she'd had upon him but held fast; she was a friend and needed to know if he was in trouble. 

Was he facing a threat from someone? Had people from the town broken in… 

…or perhaps they been trying to break out…?

Vincent's head turned to her with a sharpness with literally made Tifa leap from her seat a few inches. Her stomach flew up to her mouth and her pulse raced at the unexpected gesture. As silence smothered the chamber once more however, she lowered herself back down onto the seat with a humiliated stiffness. She cleared her throat and swallowed hard.

"S-Sorry," she stuttered with a trembling voice. "I-I wasn't expecting that…"

"Clearly," was all he replied and she cringed as she felt her face flush a vivid red.

Her hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that she felt the angular corners bite deep into her skin as his stare lingered on her. Those eyes fixed themselves into place as they bored into the side of her head; she found herself aware of them even as she purposefully tried to flick a few loose strands of hair over her visage. For once they didn't comply and instead revelled in her malady.

In her peripheral vision she watched him blink and very slowly lean across the side of the bed towards her. She remained frozen and rigid in some childish hope that if she didn't move then perhaps he'd forget she was there at all. The immature beliefs proved to be as laughable as she knew they were and he was suddenly so close to her that she could feel his breath on her ear. 

The cool air tickled her exposed skin and she felt a strand of hair brush upon her cheek like a whispering spider-web. And yet, as her frame froze in unfounded terror a strange sense of peace and utter obedience swamped her; she couldn't move, but it was suddenly because she didn't _want_ to.

However, with an almost agonising rending the tranquillity and defencelessness was torn from her to such a degree that after a few seconds of stationary torture, she leapt to her feet and turned quickly to the water bowl behind her. As she did so, Vincent quickly withdrew and assumed his sitting position once more.

"I shouldn't leave this to soak," she mumbled under her breath as her shaking hands trembled beneath the water and persisted to frantically repeat her actions of the past hour.

"Of course," he returned in an equally subdued tone.

Lifting the bowl with a visible tremor she carried it over to the antique wash basin on the other side of the room, brushing past the foot of the bed as she walked. She tipped out the bloody liquid and felt a moment's release in the roaring gush of the water as she turned on the taps. The bowl filled so much quicker than she wished it and with a grudging sigh she turned off the beautifully loud faucet. She carried the pure water over to the bedstand and cleaned out the cloth once more with a greater degree of success. 

This time Vincent didn't watch her; the spot on the wall opposite him appeared to have sparked off his interest once more- a fact she found herself grimly thankful for. Her heart slowed and she continued to rinse out the rag with more regular actions. Her eyes lifted to the town through the window before her as the inhabitants began to turn on their oil lamps for the night; there were only three street lamps and they were weak. It seemed almost as though the illumination cast out by the homely windows of the buildings surrounding the centre well gave all the light that was needed.

As she kneaded the cloth under the water in the bowl, she heard a rustling to her right and paused to watch Vincent slip from beneath the sheets and sit with his back facing her. He rested his elbows on his knees for a while, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked so haggard and weary for a moment that she felt a wave of pity gnaw at her mind. Slivers of silver curved down his bare skin and shimmered unnaturally in the steadily growing moonlight from outside. As he moved, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the white, white skin, the old scars shifted with him as though harbouring no desire to be left behind. They wanted to stay with him; they wanted to hug to every bare patch of his frame and scream out the torture he had once experienced to anyone who came near to him.

She'd first noticed them as she undressed him; unconscious and still he'd put up no resistance. However, in the past he'd never so much as removed his cape before the members of AVALANCHE. He'd never wanted them to see his past in case they tried to ease him of it. He wanted his heavy shrouds close, his scars closer and his past so near to him that it practically weighed upon his soul.

Tifa's hands slipped from the water as she turned fully to face him.

So isolated; so weary and alone she felt only pity where there had been terror before.

Vincent looked at her over his shoulder. "I'd like to get dressed now," he said quietly.

She gave a slight nod and wiped her hands idly on a dry towel resting near the candle; the blood which had soaked into it hard like a crust. It crumbled a little at her touch but she didn't notice as she put it to one side and brushed down her jeans.

"Can I get you anything to eat?" she asked him gently and for a moment he froze.

"No," he said eventually with a note of terseness. "No thank you." There was a long halt in the conversation as Tifa stood rigid, waiting for him to speak again. He exhaled deeply and ran his claw back through his somehow un-knotted raven hair. As he did so he turned ever so slightly towards her, bending one knee and resting it on the bed beside him. He focused his eyes upon it as though harbouring a desire to deny all contact with her whatsoever.

"You'd… better go," he confided quietly. "I've lost a lot of blood and if I start moving around then… it'll only get worse."

Tifa's muscles tensed at the insight into his body. He'd lost blood; it didn't take a genius to realise what that meant to him. 

To the _Vampire_. 

Suddenly she felt a ghost of a sigh upon her neck; the echo of his disturbingly close presence only a few minutes before as he leant across towards her. His breath touching her cheek and his hair practically brushing against her shoulder; the feverish gleam in his blood-red eyes and the way his breath was raggedly audible – quick and tensed. His muscles clenched in excitement and an unnatural eagerness.

She gave an involuntary shudder and nodded in firm understanding as she swallowed and walked to the door. She faltered for a moment as words bubbled at the back of her mind and screamed to be spoken, but she forced them back. She gave another nod before turning fully and leaving the chamber.

Vincent cradled his head in his hands for a little longer before giving a drawn out sigh and sitting straight. The cold air of the room was pleasing against his skin and he revelled in it, tilting his face to the ceiling in a moment of hollow relief.

It was only hollow however, and inside the hollowness grew a demon. But it would never fill the oblivion within his soul; there would never be too little space for the monster because as it expanded, so did the emptiness until he grimly knew he'd be swallowed by it. The demon rested there in the icy air, just below his skin. He could feel it, breathing with his breaths, bleeding with his blood. 

But whilst he reviled it, it loved him. Not only did it wish for him to sink back into the peace he longed for, it readily offered to take his place. It would seize his mind and body, but as it offered these empty promises it grinned. It grinned with the fang-filled jaws of Chaos.

Its promises were nothing. Yes, the demon loved him but it was a sadistic love. Just as a masochist gains affection from pain, so the demon it felt it would show it's devotion through his agony. It would consume his soul and let it fall into a dreamless lull where yes indeed it would find peace, but it would be the peace of selfishness. Fuck the world and let me go free.

But what scared Vincent more than anything, was that he was tempted to say yes.

While the soul would fade and die, only to reside in nothingness his mind would remain. Eaten away piece by tiny piece with insanity as he became the demon. And yet, Vincent mused as he stood up and walked over to his clothes, he was already a monster so what harm would the final step do?

He pulled on his black trousers and belt. He could live without a shirt for now; it was cold outside but nothing compared to the iciness within his body. He just needed his cape and that would be it.

His stomach lurched and he felt a sudden wash of thirst rush over his senses. With it came a sharp pain, for only a few seconds along the length of his top jaw. The night melted to the nothing which longed to embrace him and a myriad of colours and movement burst before his eyes. He took a step towards the door and took a deep sniff of the air. It was still heavy with the scent of his own blood but that meant nothing to the hunger. But in the air there was Her.

There was Tifa and his vampiric blood surged with a dizzying desire.

"Oh God…" he whispered in a voice so light that even he could barely hear it over the roaring of his own pulse. "Why did you have to come here…? Why did you have to come here now?"

I'm terrible at updating my fics aren't I? *crawls back under her rock* I blame exams, general work and my site which has taken about 50-times longer than I'd ever expected to finish. You can judge the results for yourself if you feel bored enough to scan over my work at [www.envy.nu/silverfrost][1] . Beware of the Vincent.. he gets cranky if you wake him up too early… ^..~

   [1]: http://www.envy.nu/silverfrost



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